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History of Friedrich II of Prussia V 10
by Thomas Carlyle
March, 2000 [Etext #2110]
Project Gutenberg's Etext History of Friedrich II of Prussia V 10
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Prepared by D.R. Thompson
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Prepared by D.R. Thompson
Carlyle's "History of Friedrich II of Prussia"
Book X
BOOK X.
AT REINSBERG.
1736-1740.
Chapter I.
MANSION OF REINSBERG.
On the Crown-Prince's Marriage, three years ago, when the AMT or
Government-District RUPPIN, with its incomings, was assigned to
him for revenue, we heard withal of a residence getting ready.
Hint had fallen from the Prince, that Reinsberg, an old Country-
seat, standing with its Domain round it in that little Territory
of Ruppin, and probably purchasable as was understood, might be
pleasant, were it once his and well put in repair. Which hint the
kind paternal Majesty instantly proceeded to act upon.
He straightway gave orders for the purchase of Reinsberg;
concluded said purchase, on fair terms, after some months'
bargaining; [23d October, 1733, order given,--16th March, 1734,
purchase completed (Preuss, i. 75).]--and set his best Architect,
one Kemeter, to work, in concert with the Crown-Prince, to new-
build and enlarge the decayed Schloss of Reinsberg into such a
Mansion as the young Royal Highness and his Wife would like.
Kemeter has been busy, all this while; a solid, elegant, yet
frugal builder: and now the main body of the Mansion is complete,
or nearly so, the wings and adjuncts going steadily forward;
Mansion so far ready that the Royal Highnesses can take up their
abode in it. Which they do, this Autumn, 1736; and fairly commence
Joint Housekeeping, in a permanent manner. Hitherto it has been
intermittent only: hitherto the Crown-Princess has resided in
their Berlin Mansion, or in her own Country-house at Schonhausen;
Husband not habitually with her, except when on leave of absence
from Ruppin, in Carnival time or for shorter periods. At Ruppin
his life has been rather that of a bachelor, or husband abroad on
business; up to this time. But now at Reinsberg they do kindle the
sacred hearth together; "6th August, 1736," the date of that
important event. They have got their Court about them, dames and
cavaliers more than we expected; they have arranged the furnitures
of their existence here on fit scale, and set up their Lares and
Penates on a thrifty footing. Majesty and Queen come out on a
visit to them next month; [4th September, 1736 (Ib.).]--raising
the sacred hearth into its first considerable blaze, and crowning
the operation in a human manner.
And so there has a new epoch arisen for the Crown-Prince and his
Consort. A new, and much-improved one. It lasted into the fourth
year; rather improving all the way: and only Kingship, which, if a
higher sphere, was a far less pleasant one, put an end to it.
Friedrich's happiest time was this at Reinsberg; the little Four
Years of Hope, Composure, realizable Idealism: an actual snatch of
something like the Idyllic, appointed him in a life-pilgrimage
consisting otherwise of realisms oftenest contradictory enough,
and sometimes of very grim complexion. He is master of his work,
he is adjusted to the practical conditions set him; conditions
once complied with, daily work done, he lives to the Muses, to the
spiritual improvements, to the social enjoyments; and has, though
not without flaws of ill-weather,--from the Tobacco-Parliament
perhaps rather less than formerly, and from the Finance-quarter
perhaps rather more,--a sunny time. His innocent insipidity of a
Wife, too, appears to have been happy. She had the charm of youth,
of good looks; a wholesome perfect loyalty of character withal;
and did not "take to pouting," as was once apprehended of her, but
pleasantly gave and received of what was going. This poor Crown-
Princess, afterwards Queen, has been heard, in her old age,
reverting, in a touching transient way, to the glad days she had
at Reinsberg. Complaint openly was never heard from her, in any
kind of days; but these doubtless were the best of her life.
Reinsberg, we said, is in the AMT Ruppin; naturally under the
Crown- Prince's government at present: the little Town or Village
of Reinsberg stands about, ten miles north of the Town Ruppin;--
not quite a third-part as big as Ruppin is in our time, and much
more pleasantly situated. The country about is of comfortable, not
unpicturesque character; to be distinguished almost as beautiful,
in that region of sand and moor. Lakes abound in it; tilled
fields; heights called "hills;" and wood of fair growth,--one
reads of "beech-avenues" of "high linden-avenues:"--a country
rather of the ornamented sort, before the Prince with his
improvements settled there. Many lakes and lakelets in it, as
usual hereabouts; the loitering waters straggle, all over that
region, into meshes of lakes. Reinsberg itself, Village and
Schloss, stands on the edge of a pleasant Lake, last of a mesh of
such: the SUMMARY, or outfall, of which, already here a good
strong brook or stream, is called the RHEIN, Rhyn or Rein; and
gives name to the little place. We heard of the Rein at Ruppin:
it is there counted as a kind of river; still more, twenty miles
farther down, where it falls into the Havel, on its way to the
Elbe. The waters, I think, are drab-colored, not peat-brown:
and here, at the source, or outfall from that mesh of lakes, where
Reinsberg is, the country seems to be about the best;--sufficient,
in picturesqueness and otherwise, to satisfy a reasonable man.
The little Town is very old; but, till the Crown-Prince settled
there, had no peculiar vitality in it. I think there are now some
potteries, glass-manufactories: Friedrich Wilhelm, just while the
Crown-Prince was removing thither, settled a first Glass-work
there; which took good root, and rose to eminence in the crystal,
Bohemian-crystal, white-glass, cut-glass, and other commoner
lines, in the Crown-Prince's time. [ Bescheibung des
Lutschlosses &c. zu Reinsberg (Berlin, 1788);
Author, a "Lieutenant Hennert," thoroughly acquainted with
his subject.]
Reinsberg stands on the east or southeast side of its pretty Lake:
Lake is called "the GRINERICK SEE" (as all those remote Lakes have
their names); Mansion is between the Town and Lake. A Mansion
fronting, we may say, four ways; for it is of quadrangular form,
with a wet moat from the Lake begirdling it, and has a spacious
court for interior: but the principal entrance is from the Town
side; for the rest, the Building is ashlar on all sides, front and
rear. Stands there, handsomely abutting on the Lake with two
Towers, a Tower at each angle, which it has on that lakeward side;
and looks, over Reinsberg, and its steeple rising amid friendly
umbrage which hides the house-tops, towards the rising sun.
Townward there is room for a spacious esplanade; and then for the
stables, outbuildings, well masked; which still farther shut off
the Town. To this day, Reinsberg stands with the air of a solid
respectable Edifice; still massive, rain-tight, though long since
deserted by the Princeships,--by Friedrich nearly sixscore years
ago, and nearly threescore by Prince Henri, Brother of
Friedrich's, who afterwards had it. Last accounts I got were, of
talk there had risen of planting an extensive NORMAL-SCHOOL there;
which promising plan had been laid aside again for the time.
The old Schloss, residence of the Bredows and other feudal people
for a long while, had good solid masonry in it, and around it
orchards, potherb gardens; which Friedrich Wilhelm's Architects
took good care to extend and improve, not to throw away:
the result of their art is what we see, a beautiful Country-House,
what might be called a Country-Palace with all its adjuncts;--and
at a rate of expense which would fill English readers, of this
time, with amazement. Much is admirable to us as we study
Reinsberg, what it had been, what it became, and how it was made;
but nothing more so than the small modicum of money lt cost.
To our wondering thought, it seems as if the shilling, in those
parts, were equal to the guinea in these; and the reason, if we
ask it, is by no means flattering altogether. "Change in the value
of money?" Alas, reader, no; that is not above the fourth part of
the phenomenon. Three-fourths of the phenomenon are change in the
methods of administering money,--difference between managing it
with wisdom and veracity on both sides, and managing it with
unwisdom and mendacity on both sides. Which is very great indeed;
and infinitely sadder than any one, in these times, will believe!
--But we cannot dwell on this consideration. Let the reader take
it with him, as a constant accompaniment in whatever work of
Friedrich Wilhelm's or of Friedrich his Son's, he now or at any
other time may be contemplating. Impious waste, which means
disorder and dishonesty, and loss of much other than money to all,
parties,--disgusting aspect of human creatures, master and
servant, working together as if they were not human,--will be
spared him in those foreign departments; and in an English heart
thoughts will arise, perhaps, of a wholesome tendency, though very
sad, as times are.
It would but weary the reader to describe this Crown-Prince
Mansion; which, by desperate study of our abstruse materials, it
is possible to do with auctioneer minuteness. There are engraved
VIEWS of Reinsberg and its Environs; which used to lie conspicuous
in the portfolios of collectors,---which I have not seen.
[See Hennert, just cited, for the titles of them.] Of the House
itself, engraved Frontages (FACADES), Ground-plans, are more
accessible; and along with them, descriptions which are little
descriptive,--wearisomely detailed, and as it were dark by excess
of light (auctioneer light) thrown on them. The reader sees, in
general, a fine symmetrical Block of Buildings, standing in
rectangular shape, in the above locality;--about two hundred
English feet, each, the two longer sides measure, the Townward and
the Lakeward, on their outer front: about a hundred and thirty,
each, the two shorter; or a hundred and fifty, taking in their
Towers just spoken of. The fourth or Lakeward side, however, which
is one of the longer pair, consists mainly of "Colonnade;"
spacious Colonnade "with vases and statues;" catching up the
outskirts of said Towers, and handsomely uniting everything.
Beyond doubt, a dignified, substantial pile of stone-work; all of
good proportions. Architecture everywhere of cheerfully serious,
solidly graceful character; all of sterling ashlar; the due
RISALITES (projecting spaces) with their attics and statues atop,
the due architraves, cornices and corbels,--in short the due
opulence of ornament being introduced, and only the due. Genuine
sculptors, genuine painters, artists have been busy; and in fact
all the suitable fine arts, and all the necessary solid ones, have
worked together, with a noticeable fidelity, comfortable to the
very beholder to this day. General height is about forty feet;
two stories of ample proportions: the Towers overlooking them are
sixty feet in height. Extent of outer frontage, if you go all
round, and omit the Colonnade, will be five hundred feet and more:
this, with the rearward face, is a thousand feet of room
frontage:--fancy the extent of lodging space. For "all the
kitchens and appurtenances are underground;" the "left front"
(which is a new part of the Edifice) rising comfortably over
these. Windows I did not count; but they must go high up into the
Hundreds. No end to lodging space. Way in a detached side-edifice
subsequently built, called Cavalier House, I read of there being,
for one item, "fifty lodging rooms," and for another "a theatre."
And if an English Duke of Trumps were to look at the bills for all
that, his astonishment would be extreme, and perhaps in a degree
painful and salutary to him.
In one of these Towers the Crown-Prince has his Library:
a beautiful apartment; nothing wanting to it that the arts could
furnish, "ceiling done by Pesne" with allegorical geniuses and
what not,--looks out on mere sky, mere earth and water in an
ornamental state: silent as in Elysium. It is there we are to
fancy the Correspondence written, the Poetries and literary
industries going on. There, or stepping down for a turn in the
open air, or sauntering meditatively under the Colonnade with its
statues and vases (where weather is no object), one commands the
Lake, with its little tufted Islands, "Remus Island" much famed
among them, and "high beech-woods" on the farther side. The Lake
is very pretty, all say; lying between you and the sunset;--with
perhaps some other lakelet, or solitary pool in the wilderness,
many miles away, "revealing itself as a cup of molten gold," at
that interesting moment. What the Book-Collection was, in the
interior, I know not except by mere guess.
The Crown-Princess's Apartment, too, which remained unaltered at
the last accounts had of it, [From Hennert, namely, in 1778.] is
very fine;--take the anteroom for specimen: "This fine room," some
twenty feet height of ceiling, "has six windows; three of them, in
the main front, looking towards the Town, the other three, towards
the Interior Court. The light from these windows is heightened by
mirrors covering all the piers (SCHAFTE, interspaces of the
walls), to an uncommonly splendid pitch; and shows the painting of
the ceiling, which again is by the famous Pesne, to much
perfection. The Artist himself, too, has managed to lay on his
colors there so softly, and with such delicate skill, that the
light-beams seem to prolong themselves in the painted clouds and
air, as if it were the real sky you had overhead." There in that
cloud-region "Mars is being disarmed by the Love-goddesses, and
they are sporting with his weapons. He stretches out his arm
towards the Goddess, who looks upon him with fond glances.
Cupids are spreading out a draping." That is Pesne's luxurious
performance in the ceiling.--"Weapon-festoons, in basso-relievo,
gilt, adorn the walls of this room; and two Pictures, also by
Pesne, which represent, in life size, the late King and Queen [our
good friends Friedrich Wilhelm and his Sophie], are worthy of
attention. Over each of the doors, you find in low-relief the
Profiles of Hannibal, Pompey, Scipio, Caesar, introduced
as Medallions."
All this is very fine; but all this is little to another ceiling,
in some big Saloon elsewhere, Music-saloon, I think: Black Night,
making off, with all her sickly dews, at one end of the ceiling;
and at the other end, the Steeds of Phoebus bursting forth, and
the glittering shafts of Day,--with Cupids, Love-goddesses, War-
gods, not omitting Bacchus and his vines, all getting beautifully
awake in consequence. A very fine room indeed;--used as a Music-
saloon, or I know not what,--and the ceiling of it almost an
ideal, say the connoisseurs.
Endless gardens, pavilions, grottos, hermitages, orangeries,
artificial ruins, parks and pleasances surround this favored spot
and its Schloss; nothing wanting in it that a Prince's
establishment needs,--except indeed it be hounds, for which this
Prince never had the least demand.
Except the old Ruppin duties, which imply continual journeyings
thither, distance only a morning's ride; except these, and
occasional commissions from Papa, Friedrich is left master of his
time and pursuits in this new Mansion. There are visits to
Potsdam, periodical appearances at Berlin; some Correspondence to
keep the Tobacco-Parliament in tune. But Friedrich's taste is for
the Literatures, Philosophies: a--young Prince bent seriously to
cultivate his mind; to attain some clear knowledge of this world,
so all-important to him. And he does seriously read, study and
reflect a good deal; his main recreations, seemingly, are Music,
and the converse of well-informed, friendly men. In Music we find
him particularly rich. Daily, at a fixed hour of the afternoon,
there is concert held; the reader has seen in what kind of room:
and if the Artists entertained here for that function were
enumerated (high names, not yet forgotten in the Musical world),
it would still more astonish readers. I count them to the number
of twenty or nineteen; and mention only that "the two Brothers
Graun" and "the two Brothers Benda" were of the lot; suppressing
four other Fiddlers of eminence, and "a Pianist who is known to
everybody." [Hennert, p. 21.] The Prince has a fine sensibility to
Music: does himself, with thrilling adagios on the flute, join in
these harmonious acts; and, no doubt, if rightly vigilant against
the Nonsenses, gets profit, now and henceforth, from this part of
his resources.
He has visits, calls to make, on distinguished persons within
reach; he has much Correspondence, of a Literary or Social nature.
For instance, there is Suhm the Saxon Envoy translating
Wolf's Philosophy into French for him; sending it in
fascicles; with endless Letters to and from, upon it,--which were
then highly interesting, but are now dead to every reader. The
Crown-Prince has got a Post-Office established at Reinsberg;
leathern functionary of some sort comes lumbering round,
southward, "from the Mecklenburg quarter twice a week, and goes by
Fehrbellin," for the benefit of his Correspondences. Of his calls
in the neighborhood, we mean to show the reader one sample, before
long; and only one.
There are Lists given us of the Prince's "Court" at Reinsberg;
and one reads, and again reads, the dreariest unmemorable accounts
of them; but cannot, with all one's industry, attain any definite
understanding of what they were employed in, day after day, at
Reinsberg:--still more are their salaries and maintenance a
mystery to us, in that frugal establishment. There is Wolden for
Hofmarschall, our old Custrin friend; there is Colonel Senning,
old Marlborough Colonel with the wooden leg, who taught Friedrich
his drillings and artillery-practices in boyhood, a fine sagacious
old gentleman this latter. There is a M. Jordan, Ex-Preacher, an
ingenious Prussian-Frenchman, still young, who acts as "Reader and
Librarian;" of whom we shall hear a good deal more. "Intendant" is
Captain (Ex-Captain) Knobelsdorf; a very sensible accomplished
man, whom we saw once at Baireuth; who has been to Italy since,
and is now returned with beautiful talents for Architecture: it is
he that now undertakes the completing of Reinsberg, [Hennert,
p. 29.] which he will skilfully accomplish in the course of the
next three years. Twenty Musicians on wind or string; Painters,
Antoine Pesne but one of them; Sculptors, Glume and others of
eminence; and Hof-Cavaliers, to we know not what extent:--how was
such a Court kept up, in harmonious free dignity, and no halt in
its finances, or mean pinch of any kind visible? The Prince did
get in debt; but not deep, and it was mainly for the tall recruits
he had to purchase. His money-accounts are by no means fully known
to me: but I should question if his expenditure (such is my guess)
ever reached 3,000 pounds a year; and am obliged to reflect more
and more, as the ancient Cato did, what an admirable revenue
frugality is!
Many of the Cavaliers, I find, for one thing, were of the Regiment
Goltz; that was one evident economy. "Rittmeister van Chasot," as
the Books call him: readers saw that Chasot flying to Prince
Eugene, and know him since the Siege of Philipsburg. He is not yet
Rittmeister, or Captain of Horse, as he became; but is of the
Ruppin Garrison; Hof-Cavalier; "attended Friedrich on his late
Prussian journey;" and is much a favorite, when he can be spared
from Ruppin. Captain Wylich, afterwards a General of mark;
the Lieutenant Buddenbrock who did the parson-charivari at Ruppin,
but is now reformed from those practices: all these are of Goltz.
Colonel Keyserling, not of Goltz, nor in active military duty
here, is a friend of very old standing; was officially named as
"Companion" to the Prince, a long while back; and got into
trouble on his account in the disastrous Ante-Custrin or Flight
Epoch: one of the Prince's first acts, when he got pardoned after
Custrin, was to beg for the pardon of this Keyserling; and now he
has him here, and is very fond of him. A Courlander, of good
family, this Keyserling; of good gifts too,--which, it was once
thought, would be practically sublime; for he carried off all
manner of college prizes, and was the Admirable-Crichton of
Konigsberg University and the Graduates there. But in the end they
proved to be gifts of the vocal sort rather: and have led only to
what we see. A man, I should guess, rather of buoyant vivacity
than of depth or strength in intellect or otherwise.
Excessively buoyant, ingenious; full of wit, kindly exuberance;
a loyal-hearted, gay-tempered man, and much a favorite in society
as well as with the Prince. If we were to dwell on Reinsberg,
Keyserling would come prominently forward.
Major van Stille, ultimately Major-General von Stille, I should
also mention: near twenty years older than the Prince; a wise
thoughtful soldier (went, by permission, to the Siege of Dantzig
lately, to improve himself); a man capable of rugged service, when
the time comes. His military writings were once in considerable
esteem with professional men; and still impress a lay reader with
favorable notions towards Stille, as a man of real worth and
sense. [ Campagnes du Roi de Prusse; --
a posthumous Book; ANTERIOR to the Seven-Years War.]
OF MONSIEUR JORDAN AND THE LITERARY SET.
There is, of course, a Chaplain in the Establishment: a Reverend
"M. Deschamps;" who preaches to them all,--in French no doubt.
Friedrich never hears Deschamps: Friedrich is always over at
Ruppin on Sundays; and there "himself reads a sermon to the
Garrison," as part of the day's duties. Reads finely, in a
melodious feeling manner, says Formey, who can judge: "even in his
old days, he would incidentally," when some Emeritus Parson, like
Formey, chanced to be with him, "roll out choice passages from
Bossuet, from Massillon," in a voice and with a look, which would
have been perfection in the pulpit, thinks Formey.
[ Souvenirs d'un Citoyen (2de edition, Paris,
1797), i. 37.]
M. Jordan, though he was called "LECTEUR (Reader)," did not read
to him, I can perceive; but took charge of the Books; busied
himself honestly to be useful in all manner of literary or quasi-
literary ways. He was, as his name indicates, from the French-
refugee department; a recent acquisition, much valued at
Reinsberg. As he makes a figure afterwards, we had better mark
him a little.
Jordan's parents were wealthy religious persons, in trade at
Berlin; this Jordan (Charles Etienne, age now thirty-six) was
their eldest son. It seems they had destined him from birth,
consulting their own pious feelings merely, to be a Preacher of
the Gospel; the other sons, all of them reckoned clever too, were
brought up to secular employments. And preach he, this poor
Charles Etienne, accordingly did; what best Gospel he had; in an
honest manner, all say,--though never with other than a kind of
reluctance on the part of Nature, forced out of her course. He had
wedded, been clergyman in two successive country places; when his
wife died, leaving him one little daughter, and a heart much
overset by that event. Friends, wealthy Brothers probably, had
pushed him out into the free air, in these circumstances: "Take a
Tour; Holland, England; feel the winds blowing, see the sun
shining, as in times past: it will do you good!"
Jordan, in the course of his Tour, came to composure on several
points. He found that, by frugality, by wise management of some
peculium already his, his little Daughter and he might have
quietness at Berlin, and the necessary food and raiment;--and, on
the whole, that he would altogether cease preaching, and settle
down there, among his Books, in a frugal manner. Which he did;--
and was living so, when the Prince, searching for that kind of
person, got tidings of him. And here he is at Reinsberg; bustling
about, in a brisk, modestly frank and cheerful manner: well liked
by everybody; by his Master very well and ever better, who grew
into real regard, esteem and even friendship for him, and has much
Correspondence, of a freer kind than is common to him, with little
Jordan, so long as they lived together. Jordan's death, ten years
hence, was probably the one considerable pain he had ever given
his neighbors, in this the ultimate section of his life.
I find him described, at Reinsberg, as a small nimble figure, of
Southern-French aspect; black, uncommonly bright eyes; and a
general aspect of adroitness, modesty, sense, sincerity;
good prognostics, which on acquaintance with the man were
pleasantly fulfilled.
For the sake of these considerations, I fished out, from the Old-
Book Catalogues and sea of forgetfulness, some of the poor Books
he wrote; especially a Voyage Litteraire,
[ Histoire d'un Voyage Litteraire fait, en MDCCXXXIII., en
France, en Angleterre et en Hollande (2de edition, a
La Haye, 1736).] Journal of that first Sanitary Excursion or Tour
he took, to get the clouds blown from his mind. A LITERARY VOYAGE
which awakens a kind of tragic feeling; being itself dead, and
treating of matters which are all gone dead. So many immortal
writers, Dutch chiefly, whom Jordan is enabled to report as having
effloresced, or being soon to effloresce, in such and such forms,
of Books important to be learned: leafy, blossomy Forest of
Literature, waving glorious in the then sunlight to Jordan;--and
it lies all now, to Jordan and us, not withered only, but
abolished; compressed into a film of indiscriminate PEAT.
Consider what that peat is made of, O celebrated or uncelebrated
reader, and take a moral from Jordan's Book! Other merit, except
indeed clearness and commendable brevity, the Voyage
Litteraire or other little Books of Jordan's have not
now. A few of his Letters to Friedrich, which exist, are the only
writings with the least life left in them, and this an accidental
life, not momentous to him or us. Dryasdust informs me, "Abbe
Jordan, alone of the Crown-Prince's cavaliers, sleeps in the Town
of Reinsberg, not in the Schloss:" and if I ask, Why?--there is
no answer. Probably his poor little Daughterkin was beside
him there?--
We have to say of Friedrich's Associates, that generally they were
of intelligent type, each of them master of something or other,
and capable of rational discourse upon that at least. Integrity,
loyalty of character, was indispensable; good humor, wit if it
could be had, were much in request. There was no man of shining
distinction there; but they were the best that could be had, and
that is saying all. Friedrich cannot be said, either as Prince or
as King, to have been superlatively successful in his choice of
associates. With one single exception, to be noticed shortly,
there is not one of them whom we should now remember except for
Friedrich's sake;--uniformly they are men whom it is now a
weariness to hear of, except in a cursory manner. One man of
shining parts he had, and one only; no man ever of really high and
great mind. The latter sort are not so easy to get; rarely
producible on the soil of this Earth! Nor is it certain how
Friedrich might have managed with one of this sort, or he with
Friedrich;--though Friedrich unquestionably would have tried, had
the chance offered. For he loved intellect as few men on the
throne, or off it, ever did; and the little he could gather of it
round him often seems to me a fact tragical rather than otherwise.
With the outer Berlin social world, acting and reacting, Friedrich
has his connections, which obscurely emerge on us now and then.
Literary Eminences, who are generally of Theological vesture;
any follower of Philosophy, especially if he be of refined manners
withal, or known in fashionable life, is sure to attract him;
and gains ample recognition at Reinsberg or on Town-visits.
But the Berlin Theological or Literary world at that time, still
more the Berlin Social, like a sunk extinct object, continues very
dim in those old records; and to say truth, what features we have
of it do not invite to miraculous efforts for farther
acquaintance. Venerable Beausobre, with his History of
the Manicheans, [ Histoire critique de
Manichee et du Manicheisme: wrote also
Remarques &c. sur le Nouveau Testament, which were
once famous; Histoire de la Reformation; &c.
&c. He is Beausobre SENIOR; there were two Sons (one of them born
in second wedlock, after Papa was 70), who were likewise given to
writing.--See Formey, Souvenirs d'un Citoyen, i. 33-39.] and other learned things,--we heard of him long
since, in Toland and the Republican Queen's time, as a light of
the world. He is now fourscore, grown white as snow; very serene,
polite, with a smack of French noblesse in him, perhaps a smack of
affectation traceable too. The Crown-Prince, on one of his Berlin
visits, wished to see this Beausobre; got a meeting appointed, in
somebody's rooms "in the French College," and waited for the
venerable man. Venerable man entered, loftily serene as a martyr
Preacher of the Word, something of an ancient Seigneur de
Beausobre in him, too; for the rest, soft as sunset, and really
with fine radiances, in a somewhat twisted state, in that good old
mind of his. "What have you been reading lately, M. de Beausobre?"
said the Prince, to begin conversation. "Ah, Monseigneur, I have
just risen from reading the sublimest piece of writing that
exists."--"And what?" "The exordium of St. John's Gospel:
In the Beginning was the Word; and the Word was with God, and the
Word was--" Which somewhat took the Prince by
surprise, as Formey reports; though he rallied straightway, and
got good conversation out of the old gentleman. To whom, we
perceive, he writes once or twice, [ OEuvres de Frederic,
xvi. 121-126. Dates are all of 1737; the last of
Beausobre's years.]--a copy of his own verses to correct, on one
occasion,--and is very respectful and considerate.
Formey tells us of another French sage, personally known to the
Prince since Boyhood; for he used to be about the Palace, doing
something. This is one La Croze; Professor of, I think,
"Philosophy" in the French College: sublime Monster of Erudition,
at that time; forgotten now, I fear, by everybody. Swag-bellied,
short of wind; liable to rages, to utterances of a coarse nature;
a decidedly ugly, monstrous and rather stupid kind of man.
Knew twenty languages, in a coarse inexact way. Attempted deep
kinds of discourse, in the lecture-room and elsewhere; but usually
broke off into endless welters of anecdote, not always of cleanly
nature; and after every two or three words, a desperate sigh, not
for sorrow, but on account of flabbiness and fat. Formey gives a
portraiture of him; not worth copying farther. The same Formey,
standing one day somewhere on the streets of Berlin, was himself,
he cannot doubt, SEEN by the Crown-Prince in passing; "who asked
M. Jordan, who that was," and got answer:--is not that a
comfortable fact? Nothing farther came of it;--respectable
Ex-Parson Formey, though ever ready with his pen, being indeed of
very vapid nature, not wanted at Reinsberg, as we can guess.
There is M. Achard, too, another Preacher, supreme of his sort, in
the then Berlin circles; to whom or from whom a Letter or two
exist. Letters worthless, if it were not for one dim indication:
That, on inquiry, the Crown-Prince had been consulting this
supreme Achard on the difficulties of Orthodoxy; [ OEuvres
de Frederic, xvi. pp. 112-117: date, March-June,
1736.] and had given him texts, or a text, to preach from.
Supreme Achard did not abolish the difficulties for his inquiring
Prince,--who complains respectfully that "his faith is weak," and
leaves us dark as to particulars. This Achard passage is almost
the only hint we have of what might have been an important
chapter: Friedrich's Religious History at Reinsberg.
The expression "weak faith" I take to be meant not in mockery, but
in ingenuous regret and solicitude; much painful fermentation,
probably, on the religious question in those Reinsberg years!
But the old "GNADENWAHL" business, the Free-Grace controversy, had
taught him to be cautious as to what he uttered on those points.
The fermentation, therefore, had to go on under cover; what the
result of it was, is notorious enough; though the steps of the
process are not in any point known.
Enough now of such details. Outwardly or inwardly, there is no
History, or almost none, to be had of this Reinsberg Period;
the extensive records of it consisting, as usual, mainly of
chaotic nugatory matter, opaque to the mind of readers. There is
copious correspondence of the Crown-Prince, with at least dates to
it for most part: but this, which should be the main resource,
proves likewise a poor one; the Crown-Prince's Letters, now or
afterwards, being almost never of a deep or intimate quality;
and seldom turning on events or facts at all, and then not always
on facts interesting, on facts clearly apprehensible to us in that
extinct element.
The Thing, we know always, IS there; but vision of the Thing is
only to be had faintly, intermittently. Dim inane twilight, with
here and there a transient SPARK falling somewhither in it;--you
do at last, by desperate persistence, get to discern outlines,
features:--"The Thing cannot always have been No-thing," you
reflect! Outlines, features:--and perhaps, after all, those are
mostly what the reader wants on this occasion.
Chapter II.
OF VOLTAIRE AND THE LITERARY CORRESPONDENCES.
One of Friedrich's grand purposes at Reinsberg, to himself
privately the grandest there, which he follows with constant
loyalty and ardor, is that of scaling the heights of the Muses'
Hill withal; of attaining mastership, discipleship, in Art and
Philosophy;--or in candor let us call it, what it truly was, that
of enlightening and fortifying himself with clear knowledge, clear
belief, on all sides; and acquiring some spiritual panoply in
which to front the coming practicalities of life. This, he feels
well, will be a noble use of his seclusion in those still places;
and it must be owned, he struggles and endeavors towards this,
with great perseverance, by all the methods in his power, here, or
wherever afterwards he might be.
Here at Reinsberg, one of his readiest methods, his pleasantest if
not his usefulest, is that of getting into correspondence with the
chief spirits of his time. Which accordingly he forthwith sets
about, after getting into Reinsberg, and continues, as we shall
see, with much assiduity. Rollin, Fontenelle, and other French
lights of the then firmament,--his Letters to them exist;
and could be given in some quantity: but it is better not.
They are intrinsically the common Letters on such occasions:
"O sublime demi-god of literature, how small are princely
distinctions to such a glory as thine; thou who enterest within
the veil of the temple, and issuest with thy face shining!"--
To which the response is: "Hm, think you so, most happy, gracious,
illustrious Prince, with every convenience round you, and such
prospects ahead? Well, thank you, at any rate,--and, as the Irish
say, more power to your Honor's Glory!" This really is nearly all
that said Sets of Letters contain; and except perhaps the Voltaire
Set, none of them give symptoms of much capacity to contain more.
Certainly there was no want of Literary Men discernible from
Reinsberg at that time; and the young Prince corresponds with a
good many of them; temporal potentate saluting spiritual, from the
distance,--in a way highly interesting to the then parties, but
now without interest, except of the reflex kind, to any creature.
A very cold and empty portion, this, of the Friedrich
Correspondence; standing there to testify what his admiration was
for literary talent, or the great reputation of such; but in
itself uninstructive utterly, and of freezing influence on the now
living mind. Most of those French lights of the then firmament are
gone out. Forgotten altogether; or recognized, like Rollin and
others, for polished dullards, university big-wigs, and long-
winded commonplace persons, deserving nothing but oblivion.
To Montesquieu,--not yet called "Baron de Montesquieu" with ESPRIT
DES LOIS, but "M. de Secondat" with (Anonymous) LETTRES PERSANES,
and already known to the world for a person of sharp audacious
eyesight,--it does not appear that Friedrich addressed any Letter,
now or afterwards. No notice of Montesquieu; nor of some others,
the absence of whom is a little unexpected. Probably it was want
of knowledge mainly; for his appetite was not fastidious at this
time. And certainly he did hit the centre of the mark, and get
into the very kernel of French literature, when, in 1736, hardly
yet established in his new quarters, he addressed himself to the
shining figure known to us as "Arouet Junior" long since, and now
called M. DE VOLTAIRE; which latter is still a name notable in
Friedrich's History and that of Mankind. Friedrich's first Letter,
challenging Voltaire to correspondence, dates itself 8th August,
1736; and Voltaire's Answer--the Reinsberg Household still only in
its second month--was probably the brightest event which had yet
befallen there.
On various accounts it will behoove us to look a good deal more
strictly into this Voltaire; and, as his relations to Friedrich
and to the world are so multiplex, endeavor to disengage the real
likeness of the man from the circumambient noise and confusion
which in his instance continue very great. "Voltaire was the
spiritual complement of Friedrich," says Sauerteig once: "what
little of lasting their poor Century produced lies mainly in these
Two. A very somnambulating Century! But what little it DID, we
must call Friedrich; what little it THOUGHT, Voltaire. Other fruit
we have not from it to speak of, at this day. Voltaire, and what
CAN be faithfully done on the Voltaire Creed; 'Realized
Voltairism;'--admit it, reader, not in a too triumphant humor,--is
not that pretty much the net historical product of the Eighteenth
Century? The rest of its history either pure somnambulism; or a
mere Controversy, to the effect, 'Realized Voltairism? How soon
shall it be realized, then? Not at once, surely!' So that
Friedrich and Voltaire are related, not by accident only.
They are, they for want of better, the two Original Men of their
Century; the chief and in a sense the sole products of their
Century. They alone remain to us as still living results from it,
--such as they are. And the rest, truly, OUGHT to depart and
vanish (as they are now doing); being mere ephemera; contemporary
eaters, scramblers for provender, talkers of acceptable hearsay;
and related merely to the butteries and wiggeries of their time,
and not related to the Perennialities at all, as these Two were."
--With more of the like sort from Sauerteig.
M. de Voltaire, who used to be M. Francois-Marie Arouet, was at
this time about forty, [Born 20th February, 1694; the younger of
two sons: Father, "Francois Arouet, a Notary of the Chatelet,
ultimately Treasurer of the Chamber of Accounts;" Mother,
"Marguerite d'Aumart, of a noble family of Poitou."] and had gone
through various fortunes; a man, now and henceforth, in a high
degree conspicuous, and questionable to his fellow-creatures.
Clear knowledge of him ought, at this stage, to be common;
but unexpectedly it is not. What endless writing and biographying
there has been about this man; in which one still reads, with a
kind of lazy satisfaction, due to the subject, and to the French
genius in that department! But the man himself, and his
environment and practical aspects, what the actual physiognomy of
his life and of him can have been, is dark from beginning to
ending; and much is left in an ambiguous undecipherable condition
to us. A proper History of Voltaire, in which should be
discoverable, luminous to human creatures, what he was, what
element he lived in, what work he did: this is still a problem for
the genius of France!--
His Father's name is known to us; the name of his Father's
profession, too, but not clearly the nature of it; still less his
Father's character, economic circumstances, physiognomy spiritual
or social: not the least possibility granted you of forming an
image, however faint, of that notable man and household, which
distinguished itself to all the earth by producing little Francois
into the light of this sun. Of Madame Arouet, who, or what, or how
she was, nothing whatever is known. A human reader, pestered
continually with the Madame-Denises, Abbe-Mignots and enigmatic
nieces and nephews, would have wished to know, at least, what
children, besides Francois, Madame Arouet had: once for all, How
many children? Name them, with year of birth, year of death,
according to the church-registers: they all, at any rate, had that
degree of history! No; even that has not been done. Beneficent
correspondents of my own make answer, after some research, No
register of the Arouets anywhere to be had. The very name
VOLTAIRE, if you ask whence came it? there is no answer, or worse
than none.--The fit "History" of this man, which might be one of
the shining Epics of his Century, and the lucid summary and soul
of any HISTORY France then had, but which would require almost a
French demi-god to do it, is still a great way off, if on the road
at all! For present purposes, we select what follows from a well-
known hand:--
"YOUTH OF VOLTAIRE (1694-1725).--French Biographers have left the
Arouet Household very dark for us; meanwhile we can perceive, or
guess, that it was moderately well in economic respects;
that Francois was the second of the Two Sons; and that old Arouet,
a steady, practical and perhaps rather sharp-tempered old
gentleman, of official legal habits and position, 'Notary of the
Chatelet' and something else, had destined him for the Law
Profession; as was natural enough to a son of M. Arouet, who had
himself succeeded well in Law, and could there, best of all, open
roads for a clever second son. Francois accordingly sat 'in
chambers,' as we call it; and his fellow-clerks much loved him,--
the most amusing fellow in the world. Sat in chambers, even became
an advocate; but did not in the least take to advocateship;--took
to poetry, and other airy dangerous courses, speculative,
practical; causing family explosions and rebukes, which were
without effect on him. A young fool, bent on sportful pursuits
instead of serious; more and more shuddering at Law. To the
surprise and indignation of M. Arouet Senior. Law, with its wigs
and sheepskins, pointing towards high honors and deep flesh-pots,
had no charms for the young fool; he could not be made to
like Law.
"Whereupon arose explosions, as we hint; family explosions on the
part of M. Arouet Senior; such that friends had to interfere, and
it was uncertain what would come of it. One judicious friend,
'M. Caumartin,' took the young fellow home to his house in the
country for a time;--and there, incidentally, brought him
acquainted with old gentlemen deep in the traditions of Henri
Quatre and the cognate topics; which much inflamed the young
fellow, and produced big schemes in the head of him.
"M. Arouet Senior stood strong for Law; but it was becoming daily
more impossible. Madrigals, dramas (not without actresses),
satirical wit, airy verse, and all manner of adventurous
speculation, were what this young man went upon; and was getting
more and more loved for; introduced, even, to the superior
circles, and recognized there as one of the brightest young
fellows ever seen. Which tended, of course, to confirm him in his
folly, and open other outlooks and harbors of refuge than the
paternal one.
"Such things, strange to M. Arouet Senior, were in vogue then;
wicked Regent d'Orleans having succeeded sublime Louis XIV., and
set strange fashions to the Quality. Not likely to profit this
fool Francois, thought M. Arouet Senior; and was much confirmed in
his notion, when a rhymed Lampoon against the Government having
come out (LES J'AI VU, as they call it ["I have seen (J'AI VU)"
this ignominy occur, "I have seen" that other,--to the amount of a
dozen or two;--"and am not yet twenty." Copy of it, and guess as
to authorship, in OEuvres de Voltaire, i. 321.]), and
become the rage, as a clever thing of the kind will, it was
imputed to the brightest young fellow in France, M. Arouet's Son.
Who, in fact, was not the Author; but was not believed on his
denial; and saw himself, in spite of his high connections,
ruthlessly lodged in the Bastille in consequence. 'Let him sit,'
thought M. Arouet Senior, 'and come to his senses there!' He sat
for eighteen months (age still little above twenty); but privately
employed his time, not in repentance, or in serious legal studies,
but in writing a Poem on his Henri Quatre. 'Epic Poem,' no less;
LA LIGUE, as he then called it; which it was his hope the whole
world would one day fall in love with;--as it did. Nay, in two
years more, he had done a Play, OEDIPE the renowned name of it;
which ran for forty-eight nights' (18th November, 1718, the first
of them); and was enough to turn any head of such age. Law may be
considered hopeless, even by M. Arouet Senior.
"Try him in the Diplomatic line; break these bad habits and
connections, thought M. Arouet, at one time; and sent him to the
French Ambassador in Holland,--on good behavior, as it were, and
by way of temporary banishment. But neither did this answer.
On the contrary, the young fellow got into scrapes again; got into
amatory intrigues,--young lady visiting you in men's clothes,
young lady's mother inveigling, and I know not what;--so that the
Ambassador was glad to send him home again unmarried; marked, as
it were, 'Glass, with care!' And the young lady's mother printed
his Letters, not the least worth reading:--and the old M. Arouet
seems now to have flung up his head; to have settled some small
allowance on him, with peremptory no hope of more, and said,
'Go your own way, then, foolish junior: the elder shall be my
son.' M. Arouet disappears at this point, or nearly so, from the
history of his son Francois; and I think must have died in not
many years. Poor old M. Arouet closed his old eyes without the
least conception what a prodigious ever-memorable thing he had
done unknowingly, in sending this Francois into the world, to
kindle such universal 'dry dung-heap of a rotten world,' and set
it blazing! Francois, his Father's synonym, came to be
representative of the family, after all; the elder Brother also
having died before long. Except certain confused niece-and-nephew
personages, progeny of the sisters, Francois has no more trouble
or solacement from the paternal household. Francois meanwhile is
his Father's synonym, and signs Arouet Junior, 'Francois Aroue
l. j. (LE JEUNE).'
"'All of us Princes, then, or Poets!' said he, one night at
supper, looking to right and left: the brightest fellow in the
world, well fit to be Phoebus Apollo of such circles; and great
things now ahead of him. Dissolute Regent d'Orleans, politest,
most debauched of men, and very witty, holds the helm; near him
Dubois the Devil's Cardinal, and so many bright spirits. All the
Luciferous Spiritualism there is in France is lifting anchor,
under these auspices, joyfully towards new latitudes and Isles of
the Blest. What may not Francois hope to become? 'Hmph!' answers
M. Arouet Senior, steadily, so long as he lives. Here are one or
two subsequent phases, epochs or turning-points, of the young
gentleman's career.
"PHASIS FIRST (1725-1728).--The accomplished Duc de Sulli (Year
1725, day not recorded), is giving in his hotel a dinner, such as
usual; and a bright witty company is assembled;--the brightest
young fellow in France sure to be there; and with his electric
coruscations illuminating everything, and keeping the table in a
roar. To the delight of most; not to that of a certain splenetic
ill-given Duc de Rohan; grandee of high rank, great haughtiness,
and very ill-behavior in the world; who feels impatient at the
notice taken of a mere civic individual, Arouet Junior.
'Quel est done ce jeune homme qui parle si haut, Who
is this young man that talks so loud, then?' exclaims the proud
splenetic Duke. 'Monseigneur,' flashes the young man back upon him
in an electric manner, 'it is one who does not drag a big name
about with him; but who secures respect for the name he has!'
Figure that, in the penetrating grandly clangorous voice (VOIX
SOMBRE ET MAJESTUEUSE), and the momentary flash of eyes that
attended it. Duc de Rohan rose, in a sulphurous frame of mind;
and went his ways. What date? You ask the idle French Biographer
in vain;--see only, after more and more inspection, that the
incident is true; and with labor date it, summer of the Year 1725.
Treaty of Utrecht itself, though all the Newspapers and Own
Correspondents were so interested in it, was perhaps but a foolish
matter to date in comparison!
"About a week after, M. Arouet Junior was again dining with the
Duc de Sulli, and a fine company as before. A servant whispers
him, That somebody has called, and wants him below. 'Cannot come,'
answers Arouet; 'how can I, so engaged?' Servant returns after a
minute or two: 'Pardon, Monsieur; I am to say, it is to do an act
of beneficence that you are wanted below!' Arouet lays down his
knife and fork; descends instantly to see what act it is.
A carriage is in the court, and hackney-coach near it: 'Would
Monsieur have the extreme goodness to come to the door of the
carriage, in a case of necessity?' At the door of the carriage,
hands seize the collar of him, hold him as in a vice; diabolic
visage of Duc de Rohan is visible inside, who utters, looking to
the hackney-coach, some "VOILA, Now then!' Whereupon the hackney-
coach opens, gives out three porters, or hired bullies, with the
due implements: scandalous actuality of horsewhipping descends on
the back of poor Arouet, who shrieks and execrates to no purpose,
nobody being near. 'That will do,' says Rohan at last, and the
gallant ducal party drive off; young Arouet, with torn frills and
deranged hair, rushing up stairs again, in such a mood as is easy
to fancy. Everybody is sorry, inconsolable, everybody shocked;
nobody volunteers to help in avenging. 'Monseigneur de Sulli, is
not such atrocity done to one of your guests, an insult to
yourself?' asks Arouet. 'Well, yes perhaps, but'--Monseigneur de
Sulli shrugs his shoulders, and proposes nothing. Arouet withdrew,
of course in a most blazing condition, to consider what he could,
on his own strength, do in this conjuncture.
"His Biographer Duvernet says, he decided on doing two things:
learning English and the small-sword exercise. [ La Vie de
Voltaire, par M--(a Geneve, 1786), pp. 55-57; or
pp. 60-63, in his SECOND form of the Book. The "M--" is an Abbe
Duvernet; of no great mark otherwise. He got into Revolution
trouble afterwards, but escaped with his head; and republished his
Book, swollen out somewhat by new "Anecdotes" and republican
bluster, in this second instance; signing himself T. J. D. V--
(Paris, 1797). A vague but not dark or mendacious little Book;
with traces of real EYESIGHT in it,--by one who had personally
known Voltaire, or at least seen and heard him.] He retired to the
country for six months, and perfected himself in these two
branches. Being perfect, he challenged Duc de Rohan in the proper
manner; applying ingenious compulsives withal, to secure
acceptance of the challenge. Rohan accepted, not without some
difficulty, and compulsion at the Theatre or otherwise:--accepted,
but withal confessed to his wife. The result was, no measuring of
swords took place; and Rohan only blighted by public opinion, or
incapable of farther blight that way, went at large; a convenient
LETTRE DE CACHET having put Arouet again in the Bastille.
Where for six months Arouet lodged a second time, the innocent not
the guilty; making, we can well suppose, innumerable reflections
on the phenomena of human life. Imprisonment once over, he hastily
quitted for England; shaking the dust of ungrateful France off his
feet,--resolved to change his unhappy name, for one thing.
"Smelfungus, denouncing the torpid fatuity of Voltaire's
Biographers, says he never met with one Frenchman, even of the
Literary classes, who could tell him whence this name VOLTAIRE
originated. 'A PETITE TERRE, small family estate,' they said; and
sent him hunting through Topographies, far and wide, to no
purpose. Others answered, 'Volterra in Italy, some connection with
Volterra,'--and seemed even to know that this was but fatuity.
'In ever-talking, ever-printing Paris, is it as in Timbuctoo,
then, which neither prints nor has anything to print?' exclaims
poor Smelfungus! He tells us at last, the name VOLTAIRE is a mere
Anagram of AROUET L. J.--you try it;
A.R.O.U.E.T.L.J.=V.O.L.T.A.I.R.E and perceive at once, with
obligations to Smelfungus, that he has settled this small matter
for you, and that you can be silent upon it forever thenceforth.
"The anagram VOLTAIRE, gloomily settled in the Bastille in this
manner, can be reckoned a very famous wide-sounding outer result
of the Rohan impertinence and blackguardism; but it is not worth
naming beside the inner intrinsic result, of banishing Voltaire to
England at this point of his course. England was full of
Constitutionality and Freethinking; Tolands, Collinses,
Wollastons, Bolingbrokes, still living; very free indeed.
England, one is astonished to see, has its royal-republican ways
of doing; something Roman in it, from Peerage down to Plebs;
strange and curious to the eye of M. de Voltaire.
Sciences flourishing; Newton still alive, white with fourscore
years, the venerable hoary man; Locke's Gospel of Common Sense in
full vogue, or even done into verse, by incomparable Mr. Pope, for
the cultivated upper classes. In science, in religion, in
politics, what a surprising 'liberty' allowed or taken! Never was
a freer turn of thinking. And (what to M. de Voltaire is a
pleasant feature) it is Freethinking with ruffles to its shirt and
rings on its fingers;--never yet, the least, dreaming of the
shirtless or SANSCULOTTIC state that lies ahead for it! That is
the palmy condition of English Liberty, when M. de Voltaire
arrives there.
"In a man just out of the Bastille on those terms, there is a mind
driven by hard suffering into seriousness, and provoked by
indignant comparisons and remembrances. As if you had elaborately
ploughed and pulverized the mind of this Voltaire to receive with
its utmost avidity, and strength of fertility, whatever seed
England may have for it. That was a notable conjuncture of a man
with circumstances. The question, Is this man to grow up a Court
Poet; to do legitimate dramas, lampoons, witty verses, and wild
spiritual and practical magnificences, the like never seen;
Princes and Princesses recognizing him as plainly divine, and
keeping him tied by enchantments to that poor trade as his task in
life? is answered in the negative. No: and it is not quite to
decorate and comfort your 'dry dung-heap' of a world, or the
fortunate cocks that scratch on it, that the man Voltaire is here;
but to shoot lightnings into it, and set it ablaze one day!
That was an important alternative; truly of world-importance to
the poor generations that now are; and it was settled, in good
part, by this voyage to England, as one may surmise. Such is
sometimes the use of a dissolute Rohan in this world; for the gods
make implements of all manner of things.
"M. de Voltaire (for we now drop the Arouet altogether, and never
hear of it more) came to England--when? Quitted England--when?
Sorrow on all fatuous Biographers, who spend their time not in
laying permanent foundation-stones, but in fencing with the wind!
--I at last find indisputably, it was in 1726 that he came to
England: [Got out of the Bastille, with orders to leave France,
"29th April" of that year ( OEuvres de Voltaire, i. 40 n.).] and he himself tells us that he quitted it 'in
1728.' Spent, therefore, some two years there in all,--last year
of George I.'s reign, and first of George II.'s. But mere inanity
and darkness visible reign, in all his Biographies, over this
period of his life, which was above all others worth
investigating: seek not to know it; no man has inquired into it,
probably no competent man now ever will. By hints in certain
Letters of the period, we learn that he lodged, or at one time
lodged, in 'Maiden Lane, Covent Garden;' one of those old Houses
that yet stand in Maiden Lane: for which small fact let us be
thankful. His own Letters of the period are dated now and then
from 'Wandsworth.' Allusions there are to Bolingbroke; but the
Wandsworth is not Bolingbroke's mansion, which stood in Battersea;
the Wandsworth was one Edward Fawkener's; a man somewhat admirable
to young Voltaire, but extinct now, or nearly so, in human memory.
He had been a Turkey Merchant, it would seem, and nevertheless was
admitted to speak his word in intellectual, even in political
circles; which was wonderful to young Voltaire. This Fawkener,
I think, became Sir Edward Fawkener, and some kind of 'Secretary
to the Duke of Cumberland:'--I judge it to be the same Fawkener;
a man highly unmemorable now, were it not for the young Frenchman
he was hospitable to. Fawkener's and Bolingbroke's are perhaps the
only names that turn up in Voltaire's LETTERS of this English
Period: over which generally there reigns, in the French
Biographies, inane darkness, with an intimation, half involuntary,
that it SHOULD have been made luminous, and would if
perfectly easy.
"We know, from other sources, that he had acquaintance with many
men in England, with all manner of important men: Notes to Pope in
Voltaire-English, visit of Voltaire to Congreve, Notes even to
such as Lady Sundon in the interior of the Palace, are known of.
The brightest young fellow in the world did not want for
introductions to the highest quarters, in that time of political
alliance, and extensive private acquaintance, between his Country
and ours. And all this he was the man to improve, both in the
trivial and the deep sense. His bow to the divine Princess
Caroline and suite, could it fail in graceful reverence or what
else was needed? Dexterous right words in the right places, winged
with ESPRIT so called: that was the man's supreme talent, in which
he had no match, to the last. A most brilliant, swift, far-
glancing young man, disposed to make himself generally agreeable.
For the rest, his wonder, we can see, was kept awake; wonder
readily inclining, in his circumstances, towards admiration.
The stereotype figure of the Englishman, always the same, which
turns up in Voltaire's WORKS, is worth noting in this respect.
A rugged surly kind of fellow, much-enduring, not intrinsically
bad; splenetic without complaint, standing oddly inexpugnable in
that natural stoicism of his; taciturn, yet with strange flashes
of speech in him now and then, something which goes beyond
laughter and articulate logic, and is the taciturn elixir of these
two, what they call 'humor' in their dialect: this is pretty much
the REVERSE of Voltaire's own self, and therefore all the welcomer
to him; delineated always with a kind of mockery, but with evident
love. What excellences are in England, thought Voltaire;
no Bastille in it, for one thing! Newton's Philosophy annihilated
the vortexes of Descartes for him; Locke's Toleration is very
grand (especially if all is uncertain, and YOU are in the
minority); then Collins, Wollaston and Company,--no vile Jesuits
here, strong in their mendacious mal-odorous stupidity,
despicablest yet most dangerous of creatures, to check freedom of
thought! Illustrious Mr. Pope, of the Essay on Man, surely he is admirable; as are Pericles Bolingbroke, and
many others. Even Bolingbroke's high-lacquered brass is gold to
this young French friend of his.--Through all which admirations
and exaggerations the progress of the young man, toward certain
very serious attainments and achievements, is conceivable enough.
"One other man, who ought to be mentioned in the Biographies, I
find Voltaire to have made acquaintance with, in England: a German
M. Fabrice, one of several Brothers called Fabrice or Fabricius,--
concerning whom, how he had been at Bender, and how Voltaire
picked CHARLES DOUSE from the memory of him, there was already
mention. The same Fabrice who held poor George I. in his arms
while they drove, galloping, to Osnabriick, that night, IN
EXTREMIS:--not needing mention again. The following is more to
the point.
"Voltaire, among his multifarious studies while in England, did
not forget that of economics: his Poem LA LIGUE,--surreptitiously
printed, three years since, under that title (one Desfontaines, a
hungry Ex-Jesuit, the perpetrator), [1723, VIE, par T. J. D. V.
(that is, "M--" in the second form), p. 59.]--he now took in hand
for his own benefit; washed it clean of its blots; christened it
HENRIADE, under which name it is still known over all the world;--
and printed it; published it here, by subscription, in 1726;
one of the first things he undertook. Very splendid subscription;
headed by Princess Caroline, and much favored by the opulent of
quality. Which yielded an unknown but very considerable sum of
thousands sterling, and grounded not only the world-renown but the
domestic finance of M. de Voltaire. For the fame of the 'new
epic,' as this HENRIADE was called, soon spread into all lands.
And such fame, and other agencies on his behalf, having opened the
way home for Voltaire, he took this sum of Thousands Sterling
along with him; laid it out judiciously in some city lottery, or
profitable scrip then going at Paris, which at once doubled the
amount: after which he invested it in Corn-trade, Army Clothing,
Barbary-trade, Commissariat Bacon-trade, all manner of well-chosen
trades,--being one of the shrewdest financiers on record;--and
never from that day wanted abundance of money, for one thing.
Which he judged to be extremely expedient for a literary man,
especially in times of Jesuit and other tribulation. 'You have
only to watch,' he would say, 'what scrips, public loans,
investments in the field of agio, are offered; if you exert any
judgment, it is easy to gain there: do not the stupidest of
mortals gain there, by intensely attending to it?'
"Voltaire got almost nothing by his Books, which he generally had
to disavow, and denounce as surreptitious supposititious scandals,
when some sharp-set Book-seller, in whose way he had laid the
savory article as bait, chose to risk his ears for the profit of
snatching and publishing it. Next to nothing by his Books; but by
his fine finance-talent otherwise, he had become possessed of
ample moneys. Which were so cunningly disposed, too, that he had
resources in every Country; and no conceivable combination of
confiscating Jesuits and dark fanatic Official Persons could throw
him out of a livelihood, whithersoever he might be forced to run.
A man that looks facts in the face; which is creditable of him.
The vulgar call it avarice and the like, as their way is: but
M. de Voltaire is convinced that effects will follow causes;
and that it well beseems a lonely Ishmaelite, hunting his way
through the howling wildernesses and confused ravenous populations
of this world, to have money in his pocket. He died with a revenue
of some 7,000 pounds a year, probably as good as 20,000 pounds at
present; the richest literary man ever heard of hitherto, as well
as the remarkablest in some other respects. But we have to mark
the second phasis of his life [in which Friedrich now sees him],
and how it grew out of this first one.
"PHASIS SECOND (1728-1733).--Returning home as if quietly
triumphant, with such a talent in him, and such a sanction put
upon it and him by a neighboring Nation, and by all the world,
Voltaire was warmly received, in his old aristocratic circles, by
cultivated France generally; and now in 1728, in his thirty-second
year, might begin to have definite outlooks of a sufficiently
royal kind, in Literature and otherwise. Nor is he slow, far from
it, to advance, to conquer and enjoy. He writes successful
literature, falls in love with women of quality; encourages the
indigent and humble; eclipses, and in case of need tramples down,
the too proud. He elegizes poor Adrienne Lecouvreur, the Actress,
--our poor friend the Comte de Saxe's female friend; who loyally
emptied out her whole purse for him, 30,000 pounds in one sum,
that he might try for Courland, and whether he could fall in love
with her of the Swollen Cheek there; which proved impossible.
Elegizes Adrienne, we slty, and even buries her under cloud of
night: ready to protect unfortunate females of merit. Especially
theatrical females; having much to do in the theatre, which we
perceive to be the pulpit or real preaching-place of cultivated
France in those years. All manner of verse, all manner of prose,
he dashes off with surprising speed and grace: showers of light
spray for the moment; and always some current of graver
enterprise, Siecle de Louis Quatorze or the
like, going on beneath it. For he is a most diligent, swift,
unresting man; and studies and learns amazingly in such a rackety
existence. Victorious enough in some senses; defeat, in
Literature, never visited him. His Plays, coming thick on the
heels of one another, rapid brilliant pieces, are brilliantly
received by the unofficial world; and ought to dethrone dull
Crebillon, and the sleepy potentates of Poetry that now are.
Which in fact is their result with the public; but not yet in the
highest courtly places;--a defect much to be condemned
and lamented.
"Numerous enemies arise, as is natural, of an envious venomous
description; this is another ever-widening shadow in the sunshine.
In fact we perceive he has, besides the inner obstacles and
griefs, two classes of outward ones: There are Lions on his path
and also Dogs. Lions are the Ex-Bishop of Mirepoix, and certain
other dark Holy Fathers, or potent orthodox Official Persons.
These, though Voltaire does not yet declare his heterodoxy (which,
indeed, is but the orthodoxy of the cultivated private circles),
perceive well enough, even by the HENRIADE, and its talk of
'tolerance,' horror of 'fanaticism' and the like, what this one's
'DOXY is; and how dangerous he, not a mere mute man of quality,
but a talking spirit with winged words, may be;--and they much
annoy and terrify him, by their roaring in the distance.
Which roaring cannot, of course, convince; and since it is not
permitted to kill, can only provoke a talking spirit into still
deeper strains of heterodoxy for his own private behoof. These are
the Lions on his path: beasts conscious to themselves of good
intentions; but manifesting from Voltaire's point of view, it must
be owned, a physiognomy unlovely to a degree. (Light is superior
to darkness, I should think,' meditates Voltaire; 'power of
thought to the want of power! The ANE DE MIREPOIX (Ass of
Mirepoix), [Poor joke of Voltaire's, continually applied to this
Bishop, or Ex-Bishop,--who was thought, generally, a rather
tenebrific man for appointment to the FEUILLE DES BENEFICES
(charge of nominating Bishops, keeping King's conscience, &c.);
and who, in that capacity, signed himself ANC (by no means "ANE,"
but "ANCIEN, Whilom") DE MIREPOIX,--to the enragement of Voltaire
bften enough.] pretending to use me in this manner, is it other,
in the court of Rhadamanthus, than transcendent Stupidity, with
transcendent Insolence superadded?' Voltaire grows more and more
heterodox; and is ripening towards dangerous utterances, though
he, strives to hold in.
"The Dogs upon his path, again, are all the disloyal envious
persons of the Writing Class, whom his success has offended;
and, more generally, all the dishonest hungry persons who can gain
a morsel by biting him: and their name is legion. It must be
owned, about as ugly a Doggery ('INFAME CANAILLE' he might well
reckon them) as has, before or since, infested the path of a man.
They are not hired and set on, as angry suspicion might suggest;
but they are covertly somewhat patronized by the Mirepoix, or
orthodox Official class. Scandalous Ex-Jesuit Desfontaines,
Thersites Freron,--these are but types of an endless Doggery;
whose names and works should be blotted out; whose one claim to
memory is, that the riding man so often angrily sprang down, and
tried horsewhipping them into silence. A vain attempt.
The individual hound flies howling, abjectly petitioning and
promising; but the rest bark all with new comfort, and even he
starts again straightway. It is bad travelling in those woods,
with such Lions and such Dogs. And then the sparsely scattered
HUMAN Creatures (so we may call them in contrast, persons of
Quality for most part) are not always what they should be.
The grand mansions you arrive at, in this waste-howling solitude,
prove sometimes essentially Robber-towers;--and there may be
Armida Palaces, and divine-looking Armidas, where your ultimate
fate is still worse.
'Que le monde est rempli d'enchanteurs, je ne dis rien
d'enchanteresses!'
To think of it, the solitary Ishmaelite journeying, never so well
mounted, through such a wilderness: with lions, dogs, human
robbers and Armidas all about him; himself lonely, friendless
under the stars:--one could pity him withal, though that is not
the feeling he solicits; nor gets hitherto, even at this impartial
distance.
"One of the beautiful creatures of Quality,--we hope, not an
Armida,--who came athwart Voltaire, in these times, was a Madame
du Chatelet; distinguished from all the others by a love of
mathematics and the pure sciences, were it nothing else. She was
still young, under thirty; the literary man still under forty.
With her Husband, to whom she had brought a child, or couple of
children, there was no formal quarrel; but they were living apart,
neither much heeding the other, as was by no means a case without
example at that time; Monsieur soldiering, and philandering about,
in garrison or elsewhere; Madame, in a like humor, doing the best
for herself in the high circles of society, to which he and she
belonged. Most wearisome barren circles to a person of thought, as
both she and M. de Voltaire emphatically admitted to one another,
on first making acquaintance. But is there no help?
"Madame had tried the pure sciences and philosophies, in Books:
but how much more charming, when they come to you as a Human
Philosopher; handsome, magnanimous, and the wittiest man in the
world! Young Madame was not regularly beautiful; but she was very
piquant, radiant, adventurous; understood other things than the
pure sciences, and could be abundantly coquettish and engaging.
I have known her scuttle off, on an evening, with a couple of
adventurous young wives of Quality, to the remote lodging of the
witty M. de Voltaire, and make his dim evening radiant to him.
[One of Voltaire's Letters.] Then again, in public crowds, I have
seen them; obliged to dismount to the peril of Madame's diamonds,
there being a jam of carriages, and no getting forward for half
the day. In short, they are becoming more and more intimate, to
the extremest degree; and, scorning the world, thank Heaven that
they are mutually indispensable. Cannot we get away from this
scurvy wasp's-nest of a Paris, thought they, and live to ourselves
and our books?
"Madame was of high quality, one of the Breteuils; but was poor in
comparison, and her Husband the like. An old Chateau of theirs,
named Cirey, stands in a pleasant enough little valley in
Champagne; but so dilapidated, gaunt and vacant, nobody can live
in it. Voltaire, who is by this time a man of ample moneys,
furnishes the requisite cash; Madame and he, in sweet symphony,
concert the plans: Cirey is repaired, at least parts of it are,
into a boudoir of the gods, regardless of expense; nothing ever
seen so tasteful, so magnificent; and the two withdraw thither to
study, in peace, what sciences, pure and other, they have a mind
to. They are recognized as lovers, by the Parisian public, with
little audible censure from anybody there,--with none at all from
the easy Husband; who occasionally even visits Cirey, if he be
passing that way; and is content to take matters as he finds them,
without looking below the surface. [See (whosoever is curious)
Madame de Grafigny, Vie Privee de Voltaire et de Madame
du Chatelet (Paris, 1820). A six months of actual
Letters written by poor Grafigny, while sheltering at Cirey,
Winter and Spring, 1738-1739; straitened there in various
respects,--extremely ill off for fuel, among other things.
Rugged practical Letters, shadowing out to us, unconsciously
oftenest, and like a very mirror, the splendid and the sordid, the
seamy side and the smooth, of Life at Cirey, in her experience of
it. Published, fourscore years after, under the above title.]
For the Ten Commandments are at a singular pass in cultivated
France at this epoch. Such illicit-idyllic form of life has been
the form of Voltaire's since 1733,"--for some three years now,
when Friedrich and we first make acquaintance with him. "It lasted
above a dozen years more: an illicit marriage after its sort, and
subject only to the liabilities of such. Perhaps we may look in
upon the Cirey Household, ourselves, at some future time; and"--
This Editor hopes not!
"Madame admits that for the first ten years it was, on the whole,
sublime; a perfect Eden on Earth, though stormy now and then.
[ Lettres Inedites de Madame la Marquise du Chastelet;
auxquelles on a joint une Dissertation (&c. of hers):
Paris, 1806.] After ten years, it began to grow decidedly dimmer;
and in the course of few years more, it became undeniably evident
that M. de Voltaire 'did not love me as formerly:'--in fact, if
Madame could have seen it, M. de Voltaire was growing old, losing
his teeth, and the like; and did not care for anything as
formerly! Which was a dreadful discovery, and gave rise to results
by and by.
"In this retreat at Cirey, varied with flying visits to Paris, and
kept awake by multifarious Correspondences, the quantity of
Literature done by the two was great and miscellaneous. By Madame,
chiefly in the region of the pure sciences, in Newtonian
Dissertations, competitions for Prizes, and the like: really sound
and ingenious Pieces, entirely forgotten long since. By Voltaire,
in serious Tragedies, Histories, in light Sketches and deep
Dissertations:--mockery getting ever wilder with him; the
satirical vein, in prose and verse, amazingly copious, and growing
more and more heterodox, as we can perceive. His troubles from the
ecclesiastical or Lion kind in the Literary forest, still more
from the rabid Doggery in it, are manifold, incessant. And it is
pleasantly notable,--during these first ten years,--with what
desperate intensity, vigilance and fierceness, Madame watches over
all his interests and liabilities and casualties great and small;
leaping with her whole force into M. de Voltaire's scale of the
balance, careless of antecedences and consequences alike;
flying, with the spirit of an angry brood-hen, at the face of
mastiffs, in defence of any feather that is M. de Voltaire's.
To which Voltaire replies, as he well may, with eloquent
gratitude; with Verses to the divine Emilie, with Gifts to her,
verses and gifts the prettiest in the world;--and industriously
celebrates the divine Emilie to herself and all third parties.
"An ardent, aerial, gracefully predominant, and in the end
somewhat termagant female figure, this divine Emilie. Her temper,
radiant rather than bland, was none of the patientest on occasion;
nor was M. de Voltaire the least of a Job, if you came athwart him
the wrong way. I have heard, their domestic symphony was liable to
furious flaws,--let us hope at great distances apart:--that
'plates' in presence of the lackeys, actual crockery or metal,
have been known to fly from end to end of the dinner-table;
nay they mention 'knives' (though only in the way of oratorical
action); and Voltaire has been heard to exclaim, the sombre and
majestic voice of him risen to a very high pitch: 'Ne me
regardez tant de ces yeux hagards et louches, Don't
fix those haggard sidelong eyes on me in that way!'--mere
shrillness of pale rage presiding over the scene. But we hope it
was only once in the quarter, or seldomer: after which the element
would be clearer for some time. A lonesome literary man, who has
got a Brood Phoenix to preside over him, and fly at the face of
gods and men for him in that manner, ought to be grateful.
"Perhaps we shall one day glance, personally, as it were, into
Cirey with our readers;"--Not with this Editor or his! "It will
turn out beyond the reader's expectation. Tolerable illicit
resting-place, so far as the illicit can be tolerable, for a
lonesome Man of Letters, who goes into the illicit. Helpfulness,
affection, or the flattering image of such, are by no means
wanting: squalls of infirm temper are not more frequent than in
the most licit establishments of a similar sort. Madame, about
this time, has a swift Palfrey, 'ROSSIGNOL (Nightingale)' the name
of him; and gallops fairy-like through the winding valleys;
being an ardent rider, and well-looking on horseback. Voltaire's
study is inlaid with--the Grafigny knows all what:--mere china
tiles, gilt sculptures, marble slabs, and the supreme of taste and
expense: study fit for the Phoebus Apollo of France, so far as
Madame could contrive it. Takes coffee with Madame, in the
Gallery, about noon. And his bedroom, I expressly discern,
[ Letters of Voltaire. ] looks out upon a
running brook, the murmur of which is pleasant to one."
Enough, enough. We can perceive what kind of Voltaire it was to
whom the Crown-Prince now addressed himself; and how luminous an
object, shining afar out of the solitudes of Champagne upon the
ardent young man, still so capable of admiration. Model Epic,
HENRIADE; model History, CHARLES DOUZE; sublime Tragedies, CISAR,
ALZIRE and others, which readers still know though with less
enthusiasm, are blooming fresh in Friedrich's memory and heart;
such Literature as man never saw before; and in the background
Friedrich has inarticulately a feeling as if, in this man, there
were something grander than all Literatures: a Reform of human
Thought itself; a new "Gospel," good-tidings or God's-Message, by
this man;--which Friedrich does not suspect, as the world with
horror does, to be a new BA'SPEL, or Devil's-Message of bad-
tidings! A sublime enough Voltaire; radiant enough, over at Cirey
yonder. To all lands, a visible Phoebus Apollo, climbing the
eastern steeps; with arrows of celestial "new light" in his
quiver; capable of stretching many a big foul Python, belly
uppermost, in its native mud, and ridding the poor world of her
Nightmares and Mud-Serpents in some measure, we may hope!--
And so there begins, from this point, a lively Correspondence
between Friedrich and Voltaire; which, with some interruptions of
a notable sort, continued during their mutual Life; and is a
conspicuous feature in the Biographies of both. The world talked
much of it, and still talks; and has now at last got it all
collected, and elucidated into a dimly legible form for studious
readers. [Preuss, OEuvres de Frederic, (xxi.
xxii. xxiii., Berlin, 1853); who supersedes the lazy French
Editors in this matter.] It is by no means the diabolically wicked
Correspondence it was thought to be; the reverse, indeed, on both
sides;--but it has unfortunately become a very dull one, to the
actual generation of mankind. Not without intrinsic merit; on the
contrary (if you read intensely, and bring the extinct alive
again), it sparkles notably with epistolary grace and vivacity;
and, on any terms, it has still passages of biographical and other
interest: but the substance of it, then so new and shining, has
fallen absolutely commonplace, the property of all the world,
since then; and is now very wearisome to the reader. No doctrine
or opinion in it that you have not heard, with clear belief or
clear disbelief, a hundred times, and could wish rather not to
hear again. The common fate of philosophical originalities in this
world. As a Biographical Document, it is worth a very strict
perusal, if you are interested that way in either Friedrich or
Voltaire: finely significant hints and traits, though often almost
evanescent, so slight are they, abound in this Correspondence;
frankness, veracity under graceful forms, being the rule of it,
strange to say! As an illustration of Two memorable Characters,
and of their Century; showing on what terms the sage Plato of the
Eighteenth Century and his Tyrant Dionysius correspond, and what
their manners are to one another, it may long have a kind of
interest to mankind: otherwise it has not much left.
In Friedrich's History it was, no doubt, an important fact, that
there lived a Voltaire along with him, twenty years his senior.
With another Theory of the Universe than the Voltaire one, how
much OTHER had Friedrich too been! But the Theory called by
Voltaire's name was not properly of Voltaire's creating, but only
of his uttering and publishing; it lay ready for everybody's
finding, and could not well have been altogether missed by such a
one as Friedrich. So that perhaps we exaggerate the effects of
Voltaire on him, though undoubtedly they were considerable.
Considerable; but not derived from this express correspondence,
which seldom turns on didactic points at all; derived rather from
Voltaire's Printed WORKS, where they lay derivable to all the
world. Certain enough it is, Voltaire was at this time, and
continued all his days, Friedrich's chief Thinker in the world;
unofficially, the chief Preacher, Prophet and Priest of this
Working King;--no better off for a spiritual Trismegistus was poor
Friedrich in the world! On the practical side, Friedrich soon
outgrew him,--perhaps had already outgrown, having far more
veracity of character, and an intellect far better built in the
silent parts of it, and trained too by hard experiences to know
shadow from substance;--outgrew him, and gradually learned to look
down upon him, occasionally with much contempt, in regard to the
practical. But in all changes of humor towards Voltaire,
Friedrich, we observe, considers him as plainly supreme in
speculative intellect; and has no doubt but, for thinking and
speaking, Nature never made such another. Which may be taken as a
notable feature of Friedrich's History; and gives rise to passages
between Voltaire and him, which will make much noise in
time coming.
Here, meanwhile, faithfully presented though in condensed form, is
the starting of the Correspondence; First Letter of it, and first
Response. Two Pieces which were once bright as the summer sunrise
on both sides, but are now fallen very dim; and have much needed
condensation, and abridgment by omission of the unessential,--so
lengthy are they, so extinct and almost dreary to us!
Sublime "Wolf" and his "Philosophy," how he was hunted out of
Halle with it, long since; and now shines from Marburg, his
"Philosophy" and he supreme among mankind: this, and other extinct
points, the reader's fancy will endeavor to rekindle in some
slight measure:--
TO M. DE VOLTAIRE, AT CIREY (from the Crown-Prince).
"BERLIN, 8th August, 1736.
"MONSIEUR,--Although I have not the satisfaction of knowing you
personally, you are not the less known to me through your Works.
They are treasures of the mind, if I may so express myself;
and they reveal to the reader new beauties at every fresh perusal.
I think I have recognized in them the character of their ingenious
Author, who does honor to our age and to human nature. If ever the
dispute on the comparative merits of the Moderns and the Ancients
should be revived, the modern great men will owe it to you, and to
you only, that the scale is turned in their favor. With the
excellent quality of Poet you join innumerable others more or less
related to it. Never did Poet before put Metaphysics into rhythmic
cadence: to you the honor was reserved of doing it first.
"This taste for Philosophy manifested in your writings, induces me
to send you a translated Copy of the Accusation and
defence of M. Wolf, the most celebrated Philosopher
of our days; who, for having carried light into the darkest places
of Metaphysics, is cruelly accused of irreligion and atheism.
Such is the destiny of great men; their superior genius exposes
them to the poisoned arrows of calumny and envy. I am about
getting a Translation made of the Treatise on God, the
Soul, and the World," --Translation done by an
Excellency Suhm, as has been hinted,--"from the pen of the same
Author. I will send it you when it is finished; and I am sure that
the force of evidence in all his propositions, and their close
geometrical sequence, will strike you.
"The kindness and assistance you afford to all who devote
themselves to the Arts and Sciences, makes me hope that you will
not exclude me from the number of those whom you find worthy of
your instructions:--it is so I would call your intercourse by
Correspondence of Letters; which cannot be other than profitable
to every thinking being. ...
... "beauties without number in your works. Your HENRIADE delights
me. The tragedy of CESAR shows us sustained characters;
the sentiments in it are magnificent and grand, and one feels that
Brutus is either a Roman, or else an Englishman (ou un
Romain ou un Anglais). Your ALZIRE, to the graces of
novelty adds ...
"Monsieur, there is nothing I wish so much as to possess all your
Writings," even those not printed hitherto. "Pray, Monsieur, do
communicate them to me without reserve. If there be amongst your
Manuscripts any that you wish to conceal from the eyes of the
public, I engage to keep them in the profoundest secrecy. I am
unluckily aware, that the faith of Princes is an object of little
respect in our days; nevertheless I hope you will make an
exception from the general rule in my favor. I should think myself
richer in the possession of your Works than in that of all the
transient goods of Fortune. These the same chance grants and takes
away: your Works one can make one's own by means of memory, so
that they last us whilst it lasts. Knowing how weak my own memory
is, I am in the highest degree select in what I trust to it.
"If Poetry were what it was before your appearance, a strumming of
wearisome idyls, insipid eclogues, tuneful nothings, I should
renounce it forever:" but in your hands it becomes ennobled;
a melodious "course of morals; worthy of the admiration and the
study of cultivated minds (DES HONNETES GENS). You"--in fine, "you
inspire the ambition to follow in your footsteps. But I, how often
have I said to myself: 'MALHEUREUX, throw down a burden which is
above thy strength! One cannot imitate Voltaire, without
being Voltaire!'
"It is in such moments that I have felt how small are those
advantages of birth, those vapors of grandeur, with which vanity
would solace us! They amount to little, properly to nothing (POUR
MIEUX DIRE, RIEN). Nature, when she pleases, forms a great soul,
endowed with faculties that can advance the Arts and Sciences;
and it is the part of Princes to recompense his noble toils.
Ah, would Glory but make use of me to crown your successes!
My only fear would be, lest this Country, little fertile in
laurels, proved unable to furnish enough of them.
"If my destiny refuse me the happiness of being able to possess
you, may I, at least, hope one day to see the man whom I have
admired so long now from afar; and to assure you, by word of
mouth, that I am,--With all the esteem and consideration due to
those who, following the torch of truth for guide, consecrate
their labors to the Public,--Monsieur, your affectionate friend,
"FREDERIC, P. R. of Prussia."
[ OEuvres de Frederic, xxi. 6.]
By what route or conveyance this Letter went, I cannot say.
In general, it is to be observed, these Friedrich-Voltaire Letters
--liable perhaps to be considered contraband at BOTH ends of their
course--do not go by the Post; but by French-Prussian Ministers,
by Hamburg Merchants, and other safe subterranean channels.
Voltaire, with enthusiasm, and no doubt promptly, answers within
three weeks:--
TO THE CROWN-PRINCE, AT REINSBERG (from Voltaire).
"CIREY, 26th August, 1736.
"MONSEIGNEUR,--A man must be void of all feeling who were not
infinitely moved by the Letter which your Royal Highness has
deigned to honor me with. My self-love is only too much flattered
by it: but my love of Mankind, which I have always nourished in my
heart, and which, I venture to say, forms the basis of my
character, has given me a very much purer pleasure,--to see that
there is, now in the world, a Prince who thinks as a man;
a PHILOSOPHER Prince, who will make men happy.
"Permit me to say, there is not a man on the earth but owes thanks
for the care you take to cultivate by sound philosophy a soul that
is born for command. Good kings there never were except those that
had begun by seeking to instruct themselves; by knowing-good men
from bad; by loving what was true, by detesting persecution and
superstition. No Prince, persisting in such thoughts, but might
bring back the golden age into his Countries! And why do so few
Princes seek this glory? You feel it, Monseigneur, it is because
they all think more of their Royalty than of Mankind.
Precisely the reverse is your case:--and, unless, one day, the
tumult of business and the wickedness of men alter so divine a
character, you will be worshipped by your People, and loved by the
whole world. Philosophers, worthy of the name, will flock to your
States; thinkers will crowd round that throne, as the skilfulest
artisans do to the city where their art is in request.
The illustrious Queen Christina quitted her kingdom to go in
search of the Arts; reign you, Monseigneur, and the Arts will come
to seek you.
"May you only never be disgusted with the Sciences by the quarrels
of their Cultivators! A race of men no better than Courtiers;
often enough as greedy, intriguing, false and cruel as these," and
still more ridiculous in the mischief they do. "And how sad for
mankind that the very Interpreters of Heaven's commandments, the
Theologians, I mean, are sometimes the most dangerous of all!
Professed messengers of the Divinity, yet men sometimes of obscure
ideas and pernicious behavior; their soul blown out with mere
darkness; full of gall and pride, in proportion as it is empty of
truths. Every thinking being who is not of their opinion is an
Atheist; and every King who does not favor them will be damned.
Dangerous to the very throne; and yet intrinsically
insignificant:" best way is, leave their big talk and them alone;
speedy collapse will follow. ...
"I cannot sufficiently thank your Royal Highness for the gift of
that little Book about Monsieur Wolf. I respect Metaphysical
ideas; rays of lightning they are in the midst of deep night.
More, I think, is not to be hoped from Metaphysics. It does not
seem likely that the First-principles of things will ever be
known. The mice that nestle in some little holes of an immense
Building, know not whether it is eternal, or who the Architect, or
why he built it. Such mice are we; and the Divine Architect who
built the Universe has never, that I know of, told his secret to
one of us. If anybody could pretend to guess correctly, it is
M. Wolf." Beautiful in your Royal Highness to protect such a man.
And how beautiful it will be, to send me his chief Book, as you
have the kindness to promise! "The Heir of a Monarchy, from his
palace, attending to the wants of a recluse far off! Condescend to
afford me the pleasure of that Book, Monseigneur. ...
"What your Royal Highness thinks of poetry is just: verses that do
not teach men new and touching truths, do not deserve to be read."
As to my own poor verses--But, after all, "that HENRIADE is the
writing of an Honest Man: fit, in that sense, that it find grace
with a Philosopher Prince.
"I will obey your commands as to sending those unpublished Pieces.
You shall be my public, Monseigneur; your criticisms will be my
reward: it is a price few Sovereigns can pay. I am sure of your
secrecy: your virtue and your intellect must be in proportion.
I should indeed consider it a precious happiness to come and pay
my court to your Royal Highness! One travels to Rome to see
paintings and ruins: a Prince such as you is a much more singular
object; worthier of a long journey! But the friendship [divine
Emilie's] which keeps me in this retirement does not permit my
leaving it. No doubt you think with Julian, that great and much
calumniated man, who said, 'Friends should always be preferred
to Kings.'
"In whatever corner of the world I may end my life, be assured,
Monseigneur, my wishes will continually be for you,--that is to
say, for a whole People's happiness. My heart will rank itself
among your subjects; your glory will ever be dear to me. I shall
wish, May you always be like yourself, and may other Kings be like
you!--I am, with profound respect, your Royal Highness's most
humble
"VOLTAIRE."
[ OEuvres de Frederic, xxi. 10.]
The Correspondence, once kindled, went on apace; and soon burst
forth, finding nourishment all round, into a shining little
household fire, pleasant to the hands and hearts of both parties.
Consent of opinions on important matters is not wanting; nor is
emphasis in declaring the same. The mutual admiration, which is
high,--high and intrinsic on Friedrich's side; and on Voltaire's,
high if in part extrinsic,--by no means wants for emphasis of
statement: superlatives, tempered by the best art, pass and
repass. Friedrich, reading Voltaire's immortal Manuscripts,
confesses with a blush, before long, that he himself is a poor
Apprentice that way. Voltaire, at sight of the Princely
Productions, is full of admiration, of encouragement; does a
little in correcting, solecisms of grammar chiefly; a little, by
no means much. But it is a growing branch of employment; now and
henceforth almost the one reality of function Voltaire can find
for himself in this beautiful Correspondence. For, "Oh what a
Crown-Prince, ripening forward to be the delight of human nature,
and realize the dream of sages, Philosophy upon the Throne!"
And on the other side, "Oh what a Phoebus Apollo, mounting the
eastern sky, chasing the Nightmares,--sowing the Earth with Orient
pearl, to begin with!"--In which fine duet, it must be said, the
Prince is perceptibly the truer singer; singing within compass,
and from the heart; while the Phoebus shows himself acquainted
with art, and warbles in seductive quavers, now and then beyond
the pitch of his voice. We must own also, Friedrich proves little
seducible; shows himself laudably indifferent to such siren-
singing;--perhaps more used to flattery, and knowing by experience
how little meal is to be made of chaff. Voltaire, in an ungrateful
France, naturally plumes himself a good deal on such recognition
by a Foreign Rising Sun; and, of the two, though so many years the
elder, is much more like losing head a little.
Elegant gifts are despatched to Cirey; gold-amber trinkets for
Madame, perhaps an amber inkholder for Monsieur: priceless at
Cirey as the gifts of the very gods. By and by, a messenger goes
express: the witty Colonel Keyserling, witty but experienced, whom
we once named at Reinsberg; he is to go and see with his eyes,
since his Master cannot. What a messenger there; ambassador from
star to star! Keyserling's report at Reinsberg is not given;
but we have Grafigny's, which is probably the more impartial.
Keyserling's embassy was in the end of next year; [3d November,
1737 (as we gather from the Correspondence).] and there is plenty
of airy writing about it and him, in these Letters.
Friedrich has translated the name KEYSERLING (diminutive of
KAISER) into "Caesarion;"--and I should have said, he plays much
upon names and also upon things, at Reinsberg, in that style;
and has a good deal of airy symbolism, and cloud-work ingeniously
painted round the solidities of his life there. Especially a
"Bayard Order," as he calls it: Twelve of his selectest Friends
made into a Chivalry Brotherhood, the names of whom are all
changed, "Caesarion" one of them; with dainty devices, and mimetic
procedures of the due sort. Which are not wholly mummery; but have
a spice of reality, to flavor them to a serious young heart.
For the selection was rigorous, superior merit and behavior a
strict condition; and indeed several of these Bayard Chevaliers
proved notable practical Champions in time coming;--for example
Captain Fouquet, of whom we have heard before, in the dark Custrin
days. This is a mentionable feature of the Reinsberg life, and of
the young Prince's character there: pleasant to know of, from this
distance; but not now worth knowing more in detail.
The Friedrich-Voltaire Correspondence contains much incense;
due whiffs of it, from Reinsberg side, to the "divine Emilie,"
Voltaire's quasi better-half or worse-half; who responds always in
her divinest manner to Reinsberg, eager for more acquaintance
there. The Du Chatelets had a Lawsuit in Brabant; very inveterate,
perhaps a hundred years old or more; with the "House of
Honsbrouck:" [ Lettres Inedites de Voltaire
(Paris, 1826), p. 9.] this, not to speak of other causes, flights
from French peril and the like, often brought Voltaire and his
Dame into those parts; and gave rise to occasional hopes of
meeting with Friedrich; which could not take effect. In more
practical style, Voltaire solicits of him: "Could not your Royal
Highness perhaps graciously speak to some of those Judicial Big
wigs in Brabant, and flap them up a little!" Which Friedrich,
I think, did, by some good means. Happily, by one means or other,
Voltaire got the Lawsuit ended,--1740, we might guess, but the
time is not specified;--and Friedrich had a new claim, had there
been need of new, to be regarded with worship by Madame. [Record
of all this, left, like innumerable other things there, in an
intrinsically dark condition, lies in Voltaire's LETTERS,--not
much worth hunting up into clear daylight, the process being so
difficult to a stranger.] But the proposed meeting with Madame
could never take effect; not even when Friedrich's hands were
free. Nay I notice at last, Friedrich had privately determined it
never should--Madame evidently an inconvenient element to him.
A young man not wanting in private power of eyesight; and able to
distinguish chaff from meal! Voltaire and he will meet; meet, and
also part; and there will be passages between them:--and the
reader will again hear of this Correspondence of theirs, where it
has a biographical interest. We are to conceive it, at present, as
a principal light of life to the young heart at Reinsberg;
a cheerful new fire, almost an altar-fire, irradiating the common
dusk for him there.
Of another Correspondence, beautifully irradiative for the young
heart, we must say almost nothing: the Correspondence with Suhm.
Suhm the Saxon Minister, whom we have occasionally heard of, is an
old Friend of the Crown-Prince's, dear and helpful to him: it is
he who is now doing those Translations of Wolf, of which Voltaire lately saw specimens; translating WOLF
at large, for the young man's behoof. The young man, restless to
know the best Philosophy going, had tried reading of Wolf's chief
Book; found it too abstruse, in Wolf's German: wherefore Suhm
translates; sends it to him in limpid French; fascicle by
fascicle, with commentaries; young man doing his best to
understand and admire,--gratefully, not too successfully, we can
perceive. That is the staple of the famous SUHM CORRESPONDENCE;
staple which nobody could now bear to be concerned with.
Suhm is also helpful in finance difficulties, which are pretty
frequent; works out subventions, loans under a handsome form, from
the Czarina's and other Courts. Which is an operation of the
utmost delicacy; perilous, should it be heard of at Potsdam.
Wherefore Suhm and the Prince have a covert language for it:
and affect still to be speaking of "Publishers" and "new Volumes,"
when they mean Lenders and Bank-Draughts. All these loans, I will
hope, were accurately paid one day, as that from George II. was,
in "rouleaus of new gold." We need not doubt the wholesome charm
and blessing of so intimate a Correspondence to the Crown-Prince:
and indeed his real love of the amiable Suhm, as Suhm's of him,
comes beautifully to light in these Letters: but otherwise they
are not now to be read without weariness, even dreariness, and
have become a biographical reminiscence merely.
Concerning Graf von Manteufel, a third Literary Correspondent, and
the only other considerable one, here, from a German Commentator
on this matter, is a Clipping that will suffice:--
"Manteufel was Saxon by birth, long a Minister of August the
Strong, but quarrelled with August, owing to some frail female it
is said, and had withdrawn to Berlin a few years ago. He shines
there among the fashionable philosophical classes; underhand,
perhaps does a little in the volunteer political line withal;
being a very busy pushing gentleman. Tall of stature, 'perfectly
handsome at the age of sixty;' [Formey, Souvenirs d'un
Citoyen, i. 39-45.] great partisan of Wolf and the
Philosophies, awake to the Orthodoxies too. Writes flowing elegant
French, in a softly trenchant, somewhat too all-knowing style.
High manners traceable in him; but nothing of the noble loyalty,
natural politeness and pious lucency of Suhm. One of his Letters
to Friedrich has this slightly impertinent passage;--Friedrich,
just getting settled in Reinsberg, having transiently mentioned
'the quantity of fair sex' that had come about him there:--
"'BERLIN, 26th AUGUST, 1736 (to the Crown-Prince). ...
I am well persuaded your Royal Highness will regulate all that to
perfection, and so manage that your fair sex will be charmed to
find themselves with you at Reinsberg, and you charmed to have
them there. But permit me, your Royal Highness, to repeat in this
place, what I one day took the liberty of saying here at Berlin:
Nothing in the world would better suit the present interests of
your Royal Highness and of us all, than some Heir of your Royal
Highness's making! Perhaps the tranquil convenience with which
your Royal Highness at Reinsberg can now attend to that object,
will be of better effect than all those hasty and transitory
visits at Berlin were. At least I wish it with the best of my
heart. I beg pardon, Monseigneur, for intruding thus into
everything which concerns your Royal Highness;'--In truth, I am a
rather impudent busybodyish fellow, with superabundant dashing
manner, speculation, utterance; and shall get myself ordered out
of the Country, by my present correspondent, by and by.--
'Being ever,' with the due enthusiasm, 'MANTEUFEL.'
[ OEuvres de Frederic, xxv. 487;--Friedrich's
Answer is, Reinsberg, 23d September (Ib. 489).]
"To which Friedrich's Answer is of a kind to put a gag in the foul
mouth of certain extraordinary Pamphleteerings, that were once
very copious in the world; and, in particular, to set at rest the
Herr Dr. Zimmermann, and his poor puddle of calumnies and
credulities, got together in that weak pursuit of physiology under
obscene circumstances;--
"Which is the one good result I have gathered from the Manteufel
Correspondence," continues our German friend; whom I vote with!--
Or if the English reader never saw those Zimmermann or other dog-
like Pamphleteerings and surmisings, let this Excerpt be
mysterious and superfluous to the thankful English reader.
On the whole, we conceive to ourselves the abundant nature of
Friedrich's Correspondence, literary and other; and what kind of
event the transit of that Post functionary "from Fehrbellin
northwards," with his leathern bags, "twice a week," may have been
at Reinsberg, in those years.
Chapter III.
CROWN-PRINCE MAKES A MORNING CALL.
Thursday, 25th October, 1736, the Crown-Prince, with Lieutenant
Buddenbrock and an attendant or two, drove over into Mecklenburg,
to a Village and serene Schloss called Mirow, intending a small
act of neighborly civility there; on which perhaps an English
reader of our time will consent to accompany him. It is but some
ten or twelve miles off, in a northerly direction; Reinsberg being
close on the frontier there. A pleasant enough morning's-drive,
with the October sun shining on the silent heaths, on the many-
colored woods and you.
Mirow is an Apanage for one of the Mecklenburg-Strelitz junior
branches: Mecklenburg-Strelitz being itself a junior compared to
the Mecklenburg-Schwerin of which, and its infatuated Duke, we
have heard so much in times past. Mirow and even Strelitz are not
in--a very shining state,--but indeed, we shall see them, as it
were, with eyes. And the English reader is to note especially
those Mirow people, as perhaps of some small interest to him, if
he knew it. The Crown-Prince reports to papa, in a satirical vein,
not ungenially, and with much more freedom than is usual in those
Reinsberg letters of his:--
"TO HIS PRUSSIAN MAJESTY (from the Crown-Prince).
"REINSBERG, 26th October, 1736.
... "Yesterday I went across to Mirow. To give my Most All-
gracious Father an idea of the place, I cannot liken it to
anything higher than Gross-Kreutz [term of comparison lost upon
us; say GARRAT, at a venture, or the CLACHAN OF ABERFOYLE]:
the one house in it, that can be called a house, is not so good as
the Parson's there. I made straight for the Schloss; which is
pretty much like the Garden-house in Bornim: only there is a
rampart round it; and an old Tower, considerably in ruins, serves
as a Gateway to the House.
"Coming on the Drawbridge, I perceived an old stocking-knitter
disguised as Grenadier, with his cap, cartridge-box and musket
laid to a side, that they might not hinder him in his knitting-
work. As I advanced, he asked, 'Whence I came, and whitherward I
was going?' I answered, that 'I came from the Post-house, and was
going over this Bridge:' whereupon the Grenadier, quite in a
passion, ran to the Tower; where he opened a door, and called out
the Corporal. The Corporal seemed to have hardly been out of bed;
and in his great haste, had not taken time to put on his shoes,
nor quite button his breeches; with much flurry he asked us,
'Where we were for, and how we came to treat the Sentry in that
manner?' Without answering him at all, we went our way towards
the Schloss.
"Never in my life should I have taken this for a Schloss, had it
not been that there were two glass lamps fixed at the door-posts,
and the figures of two Cranes standing in front of them, by way of
Guards. We made up to the House; and after knocking almost half an
hour to no purpose, there peered out at last an exceedingly old
woman, who looked as if she might have nursed the Prince of
Mirow's father. The poor woman, at sight of strangers, was so
terrified, she slammed the door to in our faces. We knocked again;
and seeing there could nothing be made of it, we went round to the
stables; where a fellow told us, 'The young Prince with his
Consort was gone to Neu-Strelitz, a couple of miles off [ten miles
English]; and the Duchess his Mother, who lives here, had given
him, to make the better figure, all her people along with him;
keeping nobody but the old woman to herself.'
"It was still early; so I thought I could not do better than
profit by the opportunity, and have a look at Neu-Strelitz.
We took post-horses; and got thither about noon. Neu-Strelitz is
properly a Village; with only one street in it, where
Chamberlains, Office-Clerks, Domestics all lodge, and where there
is an Inn. I cannot better describe it to my Most All-gracious
Father than by that street in Gumbinnen where you go up to the
Town-hall,--except that no house here is whitewashed. The Schloss
is fine, and lies on a lake, with a big garden; pretty much like
Reinsberg in situation.
"The first question I asked here was for the Prince of Mirow:
but they told me he had just driven off again to a place called
Kanow; which is only a couple of miles English from Mirow, where
we had been. Buddenbrock, who is acquainted with Neu-Strelitz, got
me, from a chamberlain, something to eat; and in the mean while,
that Bohme came in, who was Adjutant in my Most All-gracious
Father's Regiment [not of Goltz, but King's presumably]: Bohme did
not know me till I hinted to him who I was. He told me, 'The Duke
of Strelitz was an excellent seamster;'" fit to be Tailor to your
Majesty in a manner, had not Fate been cruel, "'and that he made
beautiful dressing-gowns (CASSAQUINS) with his needle.' This made
me curious to see him: so we had ourselves presented as
Foreigners; and it went off so well that nobody recognized me.
I cannot better describe the Duke than by saying he is like old
Stahl [famed old medical man at Berlin, dead last year,
physiognomy not known to actual readers], in a blond Abbe's-
periwig. He is extremely silly (BLODE); his Hofrath Altrock tells
him, as it were, everything he has to say." About fifty, this poor
Duke; shrunk into needlework, for a quiet life, amid such tumults
from Schwerin and elsewhere.
"Having taken leave, we drove right off to Kanow; and got thither
about six. It is a mere Village; and the Prince's Pleasure-House
(LUSTHAUS) here is nothing better than an ordinary Hunting-Lodge,
such as any Forest-keeper has. I alighted at the Miller's; and had
myself announced" at the LUSTHAUS," by his maid: upon which the
Major-Domo (HAUS-HOFMEISTER) came over to the Mill, and
complimented me; with whom I proceeded to the Residenz," that is,
back again to Mirow, "where the whole Mirow Family were assembled.
The Mother is a Princess of Schwartzburg, and still the cleverest
of them all," still under sixty; good old Mother, intent that her
poor Son should appear to advantage, when visiting the more
opulent Serenities. "His Aunt also," mother's sister, "was there.
The Lady Spouse is small; a Niece to the Prince of Hildburghausen,
who is in the Kaiser's service: she was in the family-way;
but (ABER) seemed otherwise to be a very good Princess.
"The first thing they entertained me with was, the sad misfortune
come upon their best Cook; who, with the cart that was bringing
the provisions, had overset, and broken his arm; so that the
provisions had all gone to nothing. Privately I have had inquiries
made; there was not a word of truth in the story. At last we went
to table; and, sure enough, it looked as if the Cook and his
provisions had come to some mishap; for certainly in the Three
Crowns at Potsdam [worst inn, one may guess, in the satirical
vein], there is better eating than here.
"At table, there was talk of nothing but of all the German Princes
who are not right in their wits (NICHT RECHT KLUG)," as Mirow
himself, your Majesty knows, is reputed to be! "There was Weimar,
[Wilhelmina's acquaintance; wedded, not without difficulty, to a
superfluous Baireuth Sister-in-law by Wilhelmina (
Memoires de Wilhelmina, ii. 185-194): Grandfather of
Goethe's Friend;--is nothing like fairly out of his wits; only has
a flea (as we may say) dancing occasionally in the ear of him.
Perhaps it is so with the rest of these Serenities, here fallen
upon evil tongues?] Gotha, Waldeck, Hoym, and the whole lot of
them, brought upon the carpet:--and after our good Host had got
considerably drunk, we rose,--and he lovingly promised me that 'he
and his whole Family would come and visit Reinsberg.' Come he
certainly will; but how I shall get rid of him, God knows.
"I most submissively beg pardon of my Most All-gracious Father for
this long Letter; and"--we will terminate here. [ OEuvres
de Frederic, xxvii. part 3d, pp. 104-106.]
Dilapidated Mirow and its inmates, portrayed in this satirical
way, except as a view of Serene Highnesses fallen into Sleepy
Hollow, excites little notice in the indolent mind; and that
little, rather pleasantly contemptuous than really profitable.
But one fact ought to kindle momentary interest in English
readers: the young foolish Herr, in this dilapidated place, is no
other than our "Old Queen Charlotte's" Father that is to be,--
a kind of Ancestor of ours, though we little guessed it!
English readers will scan him with new curiosity, when he pays
that return visit at Reinsberg. Which he does within
the fortnight:--
"TO HIS PRUSSIAN MAJESTY (from the Crown-Prince).
"REINSBERG, 6th November, 1736.
... "that my Most All-gracious Father has had the graciousness to
send us some Swans. My Wife also has been exceedingly delighted at
the fine Present sent her. ... General Praetorius," Danish Envoy,
with whose Court there is some tiff of quarrel, "came hither
yesterday to take leave of us; he seems very unwilling to
quit Prussia.
"This morning about three o'clock, my people woke me, with word
that there was a Stafette come with Letters,"--from your Majesty
or Heaven knows whom! "I spring up in all haste; and opening the
Letter,--find it is from the Prince of Mirow; who informs me that
'he will be here to-day at noon.' I have got all things in
readiness to receive him, as if he were the Kaiser in person;
and I hope there will be material for some amusement to my Most
All-gracious Father, by next post."--Next post is half a week
hence:--
"TO HIS PRUSSIAN MAJESTY (from the Crown-Prince).
"REINSBERG, 11th Novemher.
... "The Prince of Mirow's visit was so curious, I must give my
Most All-gracious Father a particular report of it. In my last, I
mentioned how General Praetorius had come to us: he was in the
room, when I entered with the Prince of Mirow; at sight of him
Praetorius exclaimed, loud enough to be heard by everybody, 'VOILA
LE PRINCE CAJUCA!' [Nickname out of some Romance, fallen extinct
long since.] Not one of us could help laughing; and I had my own
trouble to turn it so that he did not get angry.
"Scarcely was the Prince got in, when they came to tell me, for
his worse luck, that Prince Heinrich," the Ill Margraf, "was come;
--who accordingly trotted him out, in such a way that we thought
we should all have died with laughing. Incessant praises were
given him, especially for his fine clothes, his fine air, and his
uncommon agility in dancing. And indeed I thought the dancing
would never end.
"In the afternoon, to spoil his fine coat,"--a contrivance of the
Ill Margraf's, I should think,--"we stept out to shoot at target
in the rain: he would not speak of it, but one could observe he
was in much anxiety about the coat. In the evening, he got a glass
or two in his head, and grew extremely merry; said at last, 'He
was sorry that, for divers state-reasons and businesses of moment,
he must of necessity return home;'--which, however, he put off
till about two in the morning. I think, next day he would not
remember very much of it.
"Prince Heinrich is gone to his Regiment again; "Praetorius too is
off;--and we end with the proper KOW-TOW. [ OEuvres de
Frederic, xvii. part 3d, p. 109.]
These Strelitzers, we said, are juniors to infatuated Schwerin;
and poor Mirow is again junior to Strelitz: plainly one of the
least opulent of Residences. At present, it is Dowager Apanage
(WITTWEN-SITZ) to the Widow of the late Strelitz of blessed
memory: here, with her one Child, a boy now grown to what manhood
we see, has the Serene Dowager lived, these twenty-eight years
past; a Schwartzburg by birth, "the cleverest head among them
all." Twenty-eight years in dilapidated Mirow: so long has that
Tailoring Duke, her eldest STEP-SON (child of a prior wife) been
Supreme Head of Mecklenburg-Strelitz; employed with his needle, or
we know not how,--collapsed plainly into tailoring at this date.
There was but one other Son; this clever Lady's, twenty years
junior,--"Prince of Mirow" whom we now see. Karl Ludwig Friedrich
is the name of this one; age now twenty-eight gone. He, ever since
the third month of him, when the poor Serene Father died ("May,
1703"), has been at Mirow with Mamma; getting what education there
was,--not too successfully, as would appear. Eight years ago, "in
1726," Mamma sent him off upon his travels; to Geneva, Italy,
France: he looked in upon Vienna, too; got a Lieutenant-Colonelcy
in the Kaiser's Service, but did not like it; soon gave it up;
and returned home to vegetate, perhaps to seek a wife,--having
prospects of succession in Strelitz. For the Serene Half-Brother
proves to have no children: were his tailoring once finished in
the world, our Prince of Mirow is Duke in Chief. On this basis the
wedded last year; the little Wife has already brought him one
child, a Daughter; and has (as Friedrich notices) another under
way, if it prosper. No lack of Daughters, nor of Sons by and by:
eight years hence came the little Charlotte,--subsequently Mother
of England: much to her and our astonishment. [Born (at Mirow)
19th May, 1744; married (London), 8th September, 1761; died, 18th
November, 1818 (Michaelis, ii. 445, 446; Hubner, t. 195; OErtel,
pp. 43, 22).]
The poor man did not live to be Duke of Strelitz; he died, 1752,
in little Charlotte's eighth year; Tailor Duke SURVIVING him a few
months. Little Charlotte's Brother did then succeed, and lasted
till 1794; after whom a second Brother, father of the now Serene
Strelitzes;--who also is genealogically notable. For from him
there came another still more famous Queen: Louisa of Prussia;
beautiful to look upon, as "Aunt Charlotte" was not, in a high
degree; and who showed herself a Heroine in Napoleon's time, as
Aunt Charlotte never was called to do. Both Aunt and Niece were
women of sense, of probity, propriety; fairly beyond the average
of Queens. And as to their early poverty, ridiculous to this gold-
nugget generation, I rather guess it may have done them benefits
which the gold-nugget generation, in its Queens and otherwise,
stands far more in want of than it thinks.
But enough of this Prince of Mirow, whom Friedrich has
accidentally unearthed for us. Indeed there is no farther history
of him, for or against. He evidently was not thought to have
invented gunpowder, by the public. And yet who knows but, in his
very simplicity, there lay something far beyond the Ill Margraf to
whom he was so quizzable? Poor down-pressed brother mortal;
somnambulating so pacifically in Sleepy Hollow yonder, and making
no complaint!
He continued, though soon with less enthusiasm, and in the end
very rarely, a visitor of Friedrich's during this Reinsberg time.
Patriotic English readers may as well take the few remaining
vestiges, too, before quite dismissiug him to Sleepy Hollow.
Here they are, swept accurately together, from that Correspondence
of Friedrich with Papa:--
"REINSBERG, 18th NOVEMBER, 1736. ... report most submissively that
the Prince of Mirow has again been here, with his Mother, Wife,
Aunt, Hofdames, Cavaliers and entire Household; so that I thought
it was the Flight out of Egypt [Exodus of the Jews]. I begin to
have a fear of those good people, as they assured me they would
have such pleasure in coming often!"
"REINSBERG, 1st FEBRUARY, 1737." Let us give it in the Original
too, as a specimen of German spelling:--
"Der Prints von Mihrau ist vohr einigen thagen hier
gewessen und haben wier einige Wasser schwermer in der See ihm zu
Ehren gesmissen, seine frau ist mit eber thoten Printzesin nieder
geKomen.--Der General schulenburg ist heute hier gekommen und
wirdt morgen"--That is to say:--
"The Prince of Mirow was here a few days ago; and we let off, in
honor of him, a few water-rockets over the Lake: his Wife has been
brought to bed of a dead Princess. General Schulenburg [with a
small s] came hither to-day; and to-morrow will" ...
"REINSBERG, 28th MARCH, 1737. ... Prince von Mirow was here
yesterday; and tried shooting at the popinjay with us; he cannot
see rightly, and shoots always with help of an opera-glass."
"RUPPIN, 20th OCTOBER, 1737. The Prince of Mirow was with us last
Friday; and babbled much in his high way; among other things,
white-lied to us, that the Kaiserinn gave him a certain porcelain
snuff-box he was handling; but on being questioned more tightly,
he confessed to me he had bought it in Vienna." [ Briefe
an Vater, p. 71 (CARET in OEuvres ); pp. 85-114.--See Ib. 6th November, 1737, for faint trace
of a visit; and 25th September, 1739, for another still fainter,
the last there is.]
And so let him somnambulate yonder, till the two Queens, like
winged Psyches, one after the other, manage to emerge from him.
Friedrich's Letters to his Father are described by some Prussian
Editors as "very attractive, SEHR ANZIEHENDE BRIEFE;" which, to a
Foreign reader, seems a strange account of them. Letters very hard
to understand completely; and rather insignificant when
understood. They turn on Gifts sent to and sent from, "swans,"
"hams," with the unspeakable thanks for them; on recruits of so
many inches; on the visitors that have been; they assure us that
"there is no sickness in the regiment," or tell expressly how
much:--wholly small facts; nothing of speculation, and of
ceremonial pipe-clay a great deal. We know already under what
nightmare conditions Friedrich wrote to his Father! The attitude
of the Crown-Prince, sincerely reverent and filial, though obliged
to appear ineffably so, and on the whole struggling under such
mountains of encumbrance, yet loyally maintaining his equilibrium,
does at last acquire, in these Letters, silently a kind of beauty
to the best class of readers. But that is nearly their sole merit.
By far the most human of them, that on the first visit to Mirow,
the reader has now seen; and may thank us much that we show him no
more of them. [ (Berlin, 1838). Reduced in size, by suitable
omissions; and properly spelt; but with little other elucidation
for a stranger: in OEuvres, xxvii. part 3d,
pp, 1-123 (Berlin, 1856).
Chapter IV.
NEWS OF THE DAY.
While these Mirow visits are about their best, and much else at
Reinsberg is in comfortable progress, Friedrich's first year there
just ending, there come accounts from England of quarrels broken
out between the Britannic Majesty and his Prince of Wales.
Discrepancies risen now to a height; and getting into the very
Newspapers;--the Rising Sun too little under the control of the
Setting, in that unquiet Country!
Prince Fred of England did not get to the Rhine Campaign, as we
saw: he got some increase of Revenue, a Household of his own;
and finally a Wife, as he had requested: a Sachsen-Gotha Princess;
who, peerless Wilhelmma being unattainable, was welcome to Prince
Fred. She is in the family-way, this summer 1737, a very young
lady still; result thought to be due--When? Result being potential
Heir to the British Nation, there ought to have been good
calculation of the time when! But apparently nobody had well
turned his attention that way. Or if Fred and Spouse had, as
is presumable, Fred had given no notice to the Paternal Majesty,--
"Let Paternal Majesty, always so cross to me, look out for himself
in that matter." Certain it is, Fred and Spouse, in the beginning
of August, 1737, are out at Hampton Court; potential Heir due
before long, and no preparation made for it. August 11th in the
evening, out at solitary Hampton Court; the poor young Mother's
pains came on; no Chancellor there, no Archbishop to see the
birth,--in fact, hardly the least medical help, and of political
altogether none. Fred, in his flurry, or by forethought,--instead
of dashing off expresses, at a gallop as of Epsom, to summon the
necessary persons and appliances, yoked wheeled vehicles and
rolled off to the old unprovided Palace of St. James's, London,
with his poor Wife in person! Unwarned, unprovided; where
nevertheless she was safely delivered that same night,--safely, as
if by miracle. The crisis might have taken her on the very
highway: never was such an imprudence. Owing, I will believe, to
Fred's sudden flurry in the unprovided moment,--unprovided, by
reason of prior desuetudes and discouragements to speech, on
Papa's side. A shade of malice there might also be. Papa doubts
not, it was malice aforethought all of it. "Had the potential Heir
of the British Nation gone to wreck, or been born on the highway,
from my quarrels with this bad Fred, what a scrape had I been in!"
thinks Papa, and is in a towering permanence of wrath ever since;
the very Newspapers and coffee-houses and populaces now all
getting vocal with it.
Papa, as it turned out, never more saw the face of Fred.
Judicious Mamma, Queen Caroline, could not help a visit, one visit
to the poor young Mother, so soon as proper: coming out from the
visit, Prince Fred obsequiously escorting her to her carriage,
found a crowd of people and populace, in front of St. James's;
and there knelt down on the street, in his fine silk breeches,
careless of the mud, to "beg a Mother's blessing," and show what a
son he was, he for his part, in this sad discrepancy that had
risen! Mamma threw a silent glance on him, containing volumes of
mixed tenor; drove off; and saw no more of Fred, she either.
I fear, this kneeling in the mud tells against Prince Fred; but in
truth I do not know, nor even much care. [Lord Hervey,
Memoirs of George the Second, ii. 362-370, 409.]
What a noise in England about nothing at all!--What a noisy
Country, your Prussian Majesty! Foolish "rising sun" not
restrainable there by the setting or shining one; opposition
parties bowling him about among the constellations, like a very
mad object!--
But in a month or two, there comes worse news out of England;
falling heavy on the heart of Prussian Majesty: news that Queen
Caroline herself is dead. ["Sunday evening, 1st December (20th
Nov.), 1737." Ib. pp. 510-539.] Died as she had lived, with much
constancy of mind, with a graceful modest courage and endurance;
sinking quietly under the load of private miseries long quietly
kept hidden, but now become too heavy, and for which the appointed
rest was now here. Little George blubbered a good deal; fidgeted
and flustered a good deal: much put about, poor foolish little
soul. The dying Caroline recommended HIM to Walpole; advised his
Majesty to marry again. "Non, j'aurai des maitresses (No, I'll have mistresses)!" sobbed his Majesty
passionately. "Ah, mon Dieu, cela n'empeche pas (that does not hinder)!" answered she, from long
experience of the case. There is something stoically tragic in the
history of Caroline with her flighty vaporing little King:
seldom had foolish husband so wise a wife. "Dead!" thought
Friedrich Wilhelm, looking back through the whirlwinds of life,
into sunny young scenes far enough away: "Dead!"--Walpole
continued to manage the little King; but not for long; England
itself rising in objection. Jenkins's Ear, I understand, is lying
in cotton; and there are mad inflammable strata in that Nation,
capable of exploding at a great rate.
From the Eastern regions our Newspapers are very full of events:
War with the Turk going on there; Russia and Austria both doing
their best against the Turk. The Russians had hardly finished
their Polish-Election fighting, when they decided to have a stroke
at the Turk,--Turk always an especial eye-sorrow to them, since
that "Treaty of the Pruth," and Czar Peter's sad rebuff there:--
Munnich marched direct out of Poland through the Ukraine, with his
eye on the Crimea and furious business in that quarter. This is
his second Campaign there, this of 1737; and furious business has
not failed. Last year he stormed the Lines of Perecop, tore open
the Crimea; took Azoph, he or Lacy under him; took many things:
this year he had laid his plans for Oczakow;--takes Oczakow,--
fiery event, blazing in all the Newspapers, at Reinsberg and
elsewhere. Concerning which will the reader accept this condensed
testimony by an eye-witness?
"OCZAKOW, 13th JULY, 1737. Day before yesterday, Feldmarschall
Munnich got to Oczakow, as he had planned,"--strong Turkish Town
in the nook between the Black Sea and the estuary of the Dnieper;
--"with intention to besiege it. Siege-train, stores of every
sort, which he had set afloat upon the Dnieper in time enough,
were to have been ready for him at Oczakow. But the flotilla had
been detained by shallows, by waterfalls; not a boat was come, nor
could anybody say when they were coming. Meanwhile nothing is to
be had here; the very face of the earth the Turks have burnt:
not a blade of grass for cavalry within eight miles, nor a stick
of wood for engineers; not a hole for covert, and the ground so
hard you cannot raise redoubts on it: Munnich perceives he must
attempt, nevertheless.
"On his right, by the sea-shore, Munnich finds some remains of
gardens, palisades; scrapes together some vestige of shelter there
(five thousand, or even ten thousand pioneers working desperately
all that first night, 11th July, with only half success); and on
the morrow commences firing with what artillery he has.
Much outfired by the Turks inside;--his enterprise as good as
desperate, unless the Dnieper flotilla come soon. July 12th, all
day the firing continues, and all night; Turks extremely furious:
about an hour before daybreak, we notice burning in the interior,
'Some wooden house kindled by us, town got on fire yonder,'--and,
praise to Heaven, they do not seem to succeed in quenching it
again. Munnich turns out, in various divisions; intent on trying
something, had he the least engineer furniture;--hopes desperately
there may be promise for him in that internal burning
still visible.
"In the centre of Munnich's line is one General Keith, a
deliberate stalwart Scotch gentleman, whom we shall know better;
Munnich himself is to the right: Could not one try it by scalade;
keep the internal burning free to spread, at any rate? 'Advance
within musket-shot, General Keith!' orders Munnich's Aide-de-Camp
cantering up. 'I have been this good while within it,' answers
Keith, pointing to his dead men. Aide-de-Camp canters up a second
time: 'Advance within half musket-shot, General Keith, and quit
any covert you have!' Keith does so; sends, with his respects to
Feldmarschall Munnich, his remonstrance against such a waste of
human life. Aide-de-Camp canters up a third time: 'Feldmarschall
Munnich is for trying a scalade; hopes General Keith will do his
best to co-operate!' 'Forward, then!' answers Keith; advances
close to the glacis; finds a wet ditch twelve feet broad, and has
not a stick of engineer furniture. Keith waits there two hours;
his men, under fire all the while, trying this and that to get
across; Munnich's scalade going off ineffectual in like manner:--
till at length Keith's men, and all men, tire of such a business,
and roll back in great confusion out of shot-range. Munnich gives
himself up for lost. And indeed, says Mannstein, had the Turks
sallied out in pursuit at that moment, they might have chased us
back to Russia. But the Turks did not sally. And the internal
conflagration is not quenched, far from it;--and about nine A.M.
their Powder-Magazine, conflagration reaching it, roared aloft
into the air, and killed seven thousand of them," [Mannstein,
pp. 151-156.]--
So that Oczakow was taken, sure enough; terms, life only:
and every remaining Turk packs off from it, some "twenty thousand
inhabitants young and old" for one sad item.--A very blazing semi-
absurd event, to be read of in Prussian military circles,--where
General Keith will be better known one day.
Russian War with the Turk: that means withal, by old Treaties, aid
of thirty thousand men from the Kaiser to Russia. Kaiser, so
ruined lately, how can he send thirty thousand, and keep them
recruited, in such distant expedition? Kaiser, much meditating, is
advised it will be better to go frankly into the Turk on his own
score, and try for slices of profit from him in this game.
Kaiser declares war against the Turk; and what is still more
interesting to Friedrich Wilhelm and the Berlin Circles,
Seckendorf is named General of it. Feldzeugmeister now
Feldmarschall Seckendorf, envy may say what it will, he has
marched this season into the Lower-Donau Countries,--going to
besiege Widdin, they say,--at the head of a big Army (on paper,
almost a hundred and fifty thousand, light troops and heavy)--
virtually Commander-in-Chief; though nominally our fine young
friend Franz of Lorraine bears the title of Commander, whom
Seckendorf is to dry-nurse in the way sometimes practised.
Going to besiege Widdin, they say. So has the poor Kaiser been
advised. His wise old Eugene is now gone; [Died 30th April, 1736.]
I fear his advisers,--a youngish Feldzeugmeister, Prince of
Hildburghausen, the chief favorite among them,--are none of the
wisest. All Protestants, we observe, these favorite
Hildburghausens, Schmettaus, Seckendorfs of his; and Vienna is an
orthodox papal Court;--and there is a Hofkriegsrath (Supreme
Council of War), which has ruined many a General, poking too
meddlesomely into his affairs! On the whole, Seckendorf will have
his difficulties. Here is a scene, on the Lower Donau, different
enough from that at Oczakow, not far from contemporaneous with it.
The Austrian Army is at Kolitz, a march or two beyond Belgrade:--
"KOLITZ, 2d JULY, 1737. This day, the Army not being on march, but
allowed to rest itself, Grand Duke Franz went into the woods to
hunt. Hunting up and down, he lost himself; did not return at
evening; and, as the night closed in and no Generalissimo visible,
the Generalissimo AD LATUS (such the title they had contrived for
Seckendorf) was in much alarm. Generalissimo AD LATUS ordered out
his whole force of drummers, trumpeters: To fling themselves,
postwise, deeper and deeper into the woods all round; to drum
there, and blow, in ever-widening circle, in prescribed notes, and
with all energy, till the Grand Duke were found. Grand Duke being
found, Seckendorf remonstrated, rebuked; a thought too earnestly,
some say, his temper being flurried,"--voice snuffling somewhat in
alt, with lisp to help:--"so that the Grand Duke took offence;
flung off in a huff: and always looked askance on the
Feldmarschall from that time;" [See Lebensgeschichte des
Grafen van Schmettau (by his Son: Berlin, 1806),
i. 27.]--quitting him altogether before long; and marching with
Khevenhuller, Wallis, Hildburghausen, or any of the subordinate
Generals rather. Probably Widdin will not go the road of Oczakow,
nor the Austrians prosper like the Russians, this summer.
Pollnitz, in Tobacco-Parliament, and in certain Berlin circles
foolishly agape about this new Feldmarschall, maintains always,
Seckendorf will come to nothing; which his Majesty zealously
contradicts,--his Majesty, and some short-sighted private
individuals still favorable to Seckendorf. [Pollnitz,
Memoiren, ii. 497-502.] Exactly one week after that
singular drum-and-trumpet operation on Duke Franz, the Last of the
Medici dies at Florence; [9th July ( Fastes de Louis XV.,
p. 304).] and Serene Franz, if he knew it, is Grand
Duke of Tuscany, according to bargain: a matter important to
himself chiefly, and to France, who, for Stanislaus and Lorraine's
sake, has had to pay him some 200,000 pounds a year during the
brief intermediate state.
OF BERG AND JULICH AGAIN; AND OF LUISCIUS WITH THE ONE RAZOR.
These remote occurrences are of small interest to his Prussian
Majesty, in comparison with the Pfalz affair, the Cleve-Julich
succession, which lies so near home. His Majesty is uncommonly
anxious to have this matter settled, in peace, if possible.
Kaiser and Reich, with the other Mediating Powers, go on
mediating; but when will they decide? This year the old Bishop of
Augsburg, one Brother of the older Kur-Pfalz Karl Philip, dies;
nothing now between us and the event itself, but Karl Philip
alone, who is verging towards eighty: the decision, to be
peaceable, ought to be speedy! Friedrich Wilhelm, in January last,
sent the expert Degenfeld, once of London, to old Karl Philip;
and has him still there, with the most conciliatory offers:
"Will leave your Sulzbachs a part, then; will be content with
part, instead of the whole, which is mine if there be force in
sealed parchment; will do anything for peace!" To which the old
Kur-Pfalz, foolish old creature, is steadily deaf; answers
vaguely, negatively always, in a polite manner; pushing his
Majesty upon extremities painful to think of. "We hate war;
but cannot quite do without justice, your Serenity," thinks
Friedrich Wilhelm: "must it be the eighty thousand iron ramrods,
then?" Obstinate Serenity continues deaf; and Friedrich Wilhelm's
negotiations, there at Mannheim, over in Holland, and through
Holland with England, not to speak of Kaiser and Reich close at
hand, become very intense; vehemently earnest, about this matter,
for the next two years. The details of which, inexpressibly
uninteresting, shall be spared the reader.
Summary is, these Mediating Powers will be of no help to his
Majesty; not even the Dutch will, with whom he is specially in
friendship: nay, in the third year it becomes fatally manifest,
the chief Mediating Powers, Kaiser and France, listening rather to
political convenience, than to the claims of justice, go direct in
Kur-Pfalz's favor;--by formal treaty of their own, ["Versailles,
13th January, 1739" (Olrich, Geschichte der Schlesischen
Kriege, i. 13); Mauvillon, ii 405-446; &c.] France
and the Kaiser settle, "That the Sulzbachers shall, as a
preliminary, get provisional possession, on the now Serenity's
decease; and shall continue undisturbed for two years, till Law
decide between his Prussian Majesty and them." Two years;
Law decide;--and we know what are the NINE-POINTS in a Law-case!
This, at last, proved too much for his Majesty. Majesty's abstruse
dubitations, meditations on such treatment by a Kaiser and others,
did then, it appears, gloomily settle into fixed private purpose
of trying it by the iron ramrods, when old Kur-Pfalz should die,--
of marching with eighty thousand men into the Cleve Countries, and
SO welcoming any Sulzbach or other guests that might arrive.
Happily old Kur-Pfalz did not die in his Majesty's time;
survived his Majesty several years: so that the matter fell into
other hands,--and was settled very well, near a century after.
Of certain wranglings with the little Town of Herstal,--Prussian
Town (part of the Orange Heritage, once KING PEPIN'S Town, if that
were any matter now) in the Bishop of Liege's neighborhood, Town
highly insignificant otherwise,--we shall say nothing here, as
they will fall to be treated, and be settled, at an after stage.
Friedrich Wilhelm was much grieved by the contumacies of that
paltry little Herstal; and by the Bishop of Liege's high-flown
procedures in countenancing them;--especially in a recruiting ease
that had fallen out there, and brought matters to a head.
["December, 1738," is crisis of the recruiting case
( Helden-Geschichte, ii. 63); "17th February,
1739," Bishop's high-flown appearance in it (ib. 67); Kaiser's in
consequence, "10th April, 1739."] The Kaiser too was afflictively
high in countenancing the Bishop;---for which both Kaiser and
Bishop got due payment in time. But his Prussian Majesty would not
kindle the world for such a paltriness; and so left it hanging in
a vexatious condition. Such things, it is remarked, weigh heavier
on his now infirm Majesty than they were wont. He is more subject
to fits of hypochondria, to talk of abdicating. "All gone wrong!"
he would say, if any little flaw rose, about recruiting or the
like. "One might go and live at Venice, were one rid of it!"
[Forster (place LOST).] And his deep-stung clangorous growl
against the Kaiser's treatment of him bursts out, from time to
time; though he oftenest pities the Kaiser, too; seeing him at
such a pass with his Turk War and otherwise.
It was in this Pfalz business that Herr Luiscius, the Prussian
Minister in Holland, got into trouble; of whom there is a light
dash of outline-portraiture by Voltaire, which has made him
memorable to readers. This "fat King of Prussia," says Voltaire,
was a dreadfully avaricious fellow, unbeautiful to a high degree
in his proceedings with mankind:--
"He had a Minister at the Hague called Luiscius; who certainly of
all Ministers of Crowned Heads was the worst paid. This poor man,
to warm himself, had made some trees be felled in the Garden of
Honslardik, which belonged at that time to the House of Prussia;
he thereupon received despatches from the King, intimating that a
year of his salary was forfeited. Luiscius, in despair, cut his
throat with probably the one razor he had (SEUL RASOIR QU'IL EUT);
an old valet came to his assistance, and unhappily saved his life.
In after years, I found his Excellency at the Hague; and have
occasionally given him an alms at the door of the VIEILLE COUR
(Old Court), a Palace belonging to the King of Prussia, where this
poor Ambassador had lived a dozen years. It must be owned, Turkey
is a republic in comparison to the despotism exercised by
Friedrich Wilhelm." [ OEuvres de Voltaire (Vie Pricee,
or what they now call Memoires
), ii. 15.]
Here truly is a witty sketch; consummately dashed off, as nobody
but Voltaire could; "round as Giotto's O," done at one stroke.
Of which the prose facts are only as follows. Luiscius, Prussian
Resident, not distinguished by salary or otherwise, had, at one
stage of these negotiations, been told, from head-quarters, He
might, in casual extra-official ways, if it seemed furthersome,
give their High Mightinesses the hope, or notion, that his Majesty
did not intend actual war about that Cleve-Julich Succession,--
being a pacific Majesty, and unwilling to involve his neighbors
and mankind. Luiscius, instead of casual hint delicately dropped
in some good way, had proceeded by direct declaration;
frank assurance to the High Mightinesses, That there would be no
war. Which had never been quite his Majesty's meaning, and perhaps
was now becoming rather the reverse of it. Disavowal of Luiscius
had to ensue thereupon; who produced defensively his instruction
from head-quarters; but got only rebukes for such heavy-footed
clumsy procedure, so unlike Diplomacy with its shoes of felt;--
and, in brief, was turned out of the Diplomatic function, as unfit
for it; and appointed to manage certain Orange Properties,
fragments of the Orange Heritage which his Majesty still has in
those Countries. This misadventure sank heavily on the spirits of
Luiscius, otherwise none of the strongest-minded of men. Nor did
he prosper in managing the Orange Properties: on the contrary, he
again fell into mistakes; got soundly rebuked for injudicious
conduct there,--"cutting trees," planting trees, or whatever it
was;--and this produced such an effect on Luiscius, that he made
an attempt on his own throat, distracted mortal; and was only
stopped by somebody rushing in. "It was not the first time he had
tried that feat," says Pollnitz, "and been prevented; nor was it
long till he made a new attempt, which was again frustrated:
and always afterwards his relations kept him close in view:"
Majesty writing comfortable forgiveness to the perturbed creature,
and also "settling a pension on him;" adequate, we can hope, and
not excessive; "which Luiscius continued to receive, at the Hague,
so long as he lived." These are the prose facts; not definitely
dated to us, but perfectly clear otherwise. [Pollnitz, ii. 495,
496;--the "NEW attempt" seems to have been "June, 1739" (
Gentleman's Magazine, in mense, p. 331).]
Voltaire, in his Dutch excursions, did sometimes, in after years,
lodge in that old vacant Palace, called VIEILLE COUR, at the
Hague; where he gracefully celebrates the decayed forsaken state
of matters; dusky vast rooms with dim gilding; forgotten libraries
"veiled under the biggest spider-webs in Europe;" for the rest, an
uncommonly quiet place, convenient for a writing man, besides
costing nothing. A son of this Luiscius, a good young lad, it also
appears, was occasionally Voltaire's amanuensis there; him he did
recommend zealously to the new King of Prussia, who was not deaf
on the occasion. This, in the fire of satirical wit, is what we
can transiently call "giving alms to a Prussian Excellency;"--
not now excellent, but pensioned and cracked; and the reader
perceives, Luiscius had probably more than one razor, had not one
been enough, when he did the rash act. Friedrich employed Luiscius
Junior, with no result that we hear of farther; and seems to have
thought Luiscius Senior an absurd fellow, not worth mentioning
again: "ran away from the Cleve Country [probably some mad-house
there] above a year ago, I hear; and what is the matter where such
a crack-brain end?" [Voltaire, OEuvres
(Letter to Friedrich, 7th October, 1740), lxxii. 261; and
Fredrich's answer (wrong dated), ib. 265; Preuss, xxii. 33.]
Chapter V.
VISIT AT LOO.
The Pfalz question being in such a predicament, and Luiscius
diplomatizing upon it in such heavy-footed manner, his Majesty
thinks a journey to Holland, to visit one's Kinsfolk there, and
incidentally speak a word with the High Mightinesses upon Pfalz,
would not be amiss. Such journey is decided on; Crown-Prince to
accompany. Summer of 1738: a short visit, quite without fuss;
to last only three days;--mere sequel to the Reviews held in those
adjacent Cleve Countries; so that the Gazetteers may take no
notice. All which was done accordingly: Crown-Prince's first sight
of Holland; and one of the few reportable points of his Reinsberg
life, and not quite without memorability to him and us.
On the 8th of July, 1738, the Review Party got upon the road for
Wesel: all through July, they did their reviewing in those Cleve
Countries; and then struck across for the Palace of Loo in
Geldern, where a Prince of Orange countable kinsman to his
Prussian Majesty, and a Princess still more nearly connected,--
English George's Daughter, own niece to his Prussian Majesty,--are
in waiting for this distinguished honor. The Prince of Orange we
have already seen, for a moment once; at the siege of Philipsburg
four years ago, when the sale of Chasot's horses went off so well.
"Nothing like selling horses when your company have dined well,"
whispered he to Chasot, at that time; since which date we have
heard nothing of his Highness.
He is not a beautiful man; he has a crooked back, and features
conformable; but is of prompt vivacious nature, and does not want
for sense and good-humor. Paternal George, the gossips say, warned
his Princess, when this marriage was talked of, "You will find him
very ill-looking, though!" "And if I found him a baboon--!"
answered she; being so heartily tired of St. James's. And in fact,
for anything I have heard, they do well enough together. She is
George II.'s eldest Princess;--next elder to our poor Amelia, who
was once so interesting to us! What the Crown-Prince now thought
of all that, I do not know; but the Books say, poor Amelia wore
the willow, and specially wore the Prince's miniature on her
breast all her days after, which were many. Grew corpulent,
somewhat a huddle in appearance and equipment, "eyelids like
upper-LIPS," for one item: but when life itself fled, the
miniature was found in its old place, resting on the old heart
after some sixty years. O Time, O Sons and Daughters
of Time!--
His Majesty's reception at Loo was of the kind he liked,--cordial,
honorable, unceremonious; and these were three pleasant days he
had. Pleasant for the Crown-Prince too; as the whole Journey had
rather been; Papa, with covert satisfaction, finding him a wise
creature, after all, and "more serious" than formerly. "Hm, you
don't know what things are in that Fritz!" his Majesty murmured
sometimes, in these later years, with a fine light in his eyes.
Loo itself is a beautiful Palace: "Loo, close by the Village
Appeldoorn, is a stately brick edifice, built with architectural
regularity; has finely decorated rooms, beautiful gardens, and
round are superb alleys of oak and linden." [Busching,
Erdbeschreibung, viii. 69.] There saunters pleasantly
our Crown-Prince, for these three days;--and one glad incident I
do perceive to have befallen him there: the arrival of a Letter
from Voltaire. Letter much expected, which had followed him from
Wesel; and which he answers here, in this brick Palace, among the
superb avenues and gardens. [ OEuvres, xxi.
203, the Letter, "Cirey, June, 1738;" Ib. 222, the Answer to it,
"Loo, 6th August, 1738."]
No doubt a glad incident, irradiating, as with a sudden sunburst
in gray weather, the commonplace of things. Here is news worth
listening to; news as from the empyrean! Free interchange of
poetries and proses, of heroic sentiments and opinions, between
the Unique of Sages and the Paragon of Crown-Princes; how charming
to both! Literary business, we perceive, is brisk on both hands;
at Cirey the Discours sur l'Homme ("Sixth
DISCOURS" arrives in this packet at Loo, surely a deathless piece
of singing); nor is Reinsberg idle: Reinsberg is copiously doing
verse, such verse! and in prose, very earnestly, an "ANTI-
MACHIAVEL;" which soon afterwards filled all the then world,
though it has now fallen so silent again. And at Paris, as
Voltaire announces with a flourish, "M. de Maupertuis's excellent
Book, Figure de la T'erre, is out;" [Paris,
1738: Maupertuis's "measurement of a degree," in the utmost North,
1736-1737 (to prove the Earth flattened there). Vivid Narrative;
somewhat gesticulative, but duly brief. The only Book of that
great Maupertuis which is now readable to human nature.] M. de
Maupertuis, home from the Polar regions and from measuring the
Earth there; the sublimest miracle in Paris society at present.
Might build, new-build, an ACADEMY OF SCIENCES at Berlin for your
Royal Highness, one day? suggests Voltaire, on this occasion:
and Friedrich, as we shall see, takes the hint. One passage of the
Crown-Prince's Answer is in these terms;--fixing this Loo visit to
its date for us, at any rate:--
"LOO IN HOLLAND, 6th AUGUST, 1739. ... I write from a place where
there lived once a great man [William III. of England, our Dutch
William]; which is now the Prince of Orange's House. The demon of
Ambition sheds its unhappy poisons over his days. He might be the
most fortunate of men; and he is devoured by chagrins in his
beautiful Palace here, in the middle of his gardens and of a
brilliant Court. It is pity in truth; for he is a Prince with no
end of wit (INFINIMENT D'ESPRIT), and has respectable qualites."
Not Stadtholder, unluckily; that is where the shoe pinches;
the Dutch are on the Republican tack, and will not have a
Stadtholder at present. No help for it in one's beautiful gardens
and avenues of oak and linden.
"I have talked a great deal about Newton with the Princess,"--
about Newton; never hinted at Amelia; not permissible!--"from
Newton we passed to Leibnitz; and from Leibnitz to the Late Queen
of England," Caroline lately gone, "who, the Prince told me, was
of Clarke's sentiment" on that important theological controversy
now dead to mankind.--And of Jenkins and his Ear did the Princess
say nothing? That is now becoming a high phenomenon in England!
But readers must wait a little.
Pity that we cannot give these two Letters in full; that no
reader, almost, could be made to understand them, or to care for
them when understood. Such the cruelty of Time upon this Voltaire-
Friedrich Correspondence, and some others; which were once so
rosy, sunny, and are now fallen drearily extinct,--studiable by
Editors only! In itself the Friedrich-Voltaire Correspondence, we
can see, was charming; very blossomy at present: businesses
increasing; mutual admiration now risen to a great height,--
admiration sincere on both sides, most so on the Prince's, and
extravagantly expressed on both sides, most so on Voltaire's.
CROWN-PRINCE BECOMES A FREEMASON; AND IS HARANGUED BY
MONSIEUR DE BIELFELD.
His Majesty, we said, had three pleasant days at Loo; discoursing,
as with friends, on public matters, or even on more private
matters, in a frank unconstrained way. He is not to be called
"Majesty" on this occasion; but the fact, at Loo, and by the
leading Mightinesses of the Republic, who come copiously to
compliment him there, is well remembered. Talk there was, with
such leading Mightinesses, about the Julich-and-Berg question, aim
of this Journey: earnest enough private talk with some of them:
but it availed nothing; and would not be worth reporting now to
any creature, if we even knew it. In fact, the Journey itself
remains mentionable chiefly by one very trifling circumstance;
and then by another, not important either, which followed out of
that. The trifling circumstance is,--That Friedrich, in the course
of this Journey, became a Freemason: and the unimportant sequel
was, That he made acquaintance with one Bielfeld, on the occasion;
who afterwards wrote a Book about him, which was once much read,
though never much worth reading, and is still citable, with
precaution, now and then. [Monsieur le Baron de Bielfeld,
Lettres Familieres et Autres, 1763;--second edition,
2 vols. a Leide, 1767, is the one we use here.] Trifling
circumstance, of Freemasonry, as we read in Bielfeld and in many
Books after him, befell in manner following.
Among the dinner-guests at Loo, one of those three days, was a
Prince of Lippe-Buckeburg,--Prince of small territory, but of
great speculation; whose territory lies on the Weser, leading to
Dutch connections; and whose speculations stretch over all the
Universe, in a high fantastic style:--he was a dinner-guest;
and one of the topics that came up was Freemasonry; a phantasmal
kind of object, which had kindled itself, or rekindled, in those
years, in England first of all; and was now hovering about, a good
deal, in Germany and other countries; pretending to be a new light
of Heaven, and not a bog-meteor of phosphorated hydrogen,
conspicuous in the murk of things. Bog-meteor, foolish putrescent
will-o'-wisp, his Majesty promptly defined it to be: Tom-foolery
and KINDERSPIEL, what else? Whereupon ingenious Buckeburg, who was
himself a Mason, man of forty by this time, and had high things in
him of the Quixotic type, ventured on defence; and was so
respectful, eloquent, dexterous, ingenious, he quite captivated,
if not his Majesty, at least the Crown-Prince, who was more
enthusiastic for high things. Crown-Prince, after table, took his
Durchlaucht of Buckeburg aside; talked farther on the subject,
expressed his admiration, his conviction,--his wish to be admitted
into such a Hero Fraternity. Nothing could be welcomer to
Durchlaucht. And so, in all privacy, it was made up betweeen them,
That Durchlaucht, summoning as many mystic Brothers out of Hamburg
as were needful, should be in waiting with them, on the Crown-
Prince's road homeward,--say at Brunswick, night before the Fair,
where we are to be,--and there make the Crown-Prince a Mason.
[Bielfeld, i. 14-16; Preuss, i. 111; Preuss, Buch fur
Jedermann, i. 41.]
This is Bielfeld's account, repeated ever since; substantially
correct, except that the scene was not Loo at all: dinner and
dialogue, it now appears, took place in Durchlaucht's own
neighborhood, during the Cleve Review time; "probably at Minden,
17th July;" and all was settled into fixed program before Loo came
in sight. [ OEuvres de Frederic, xvs. 201:
Friedrich's Letter to this Durchlaucht, "Comte de Schaumbourg-
Lippe" he calls him; date, "Moyland, 26th July, 1738: "Moyland, a
certain SCHLOSS, or habitable Mansion, of his Majesty's, few miles
to north of Mors in the Cleve Country; where his Majesty used
often to pause;--and where (what will be much more remarkable to
readers) the Crown-Prince and Voltaire had their first meeting,
two years hence.] Bielfeld's report of the subsequent procedure at
Brunswick, as he saw it and was himself part of it, is liable to
no mistakes, at least of the involuntary kind; and may, for
anything we know, be correct in every particular.
He says (veiling it under discreet asterisks, which are now
decipherable enough), The Durchlaucht of Lippe-Buckeburg had
summoned six Brethren of the Hamburg Lodge; of whom we mention
only a Graf von Kielmannsegge, a Baron von Oberg, both from
Hanover, and Bielfeld himself, a Merchant's Son, of Hamburg;
these, with "Kielmannsegge's Valet to act as Tiler," Valet being
also a Mason, and the rule equality of mankind,--were to have the
honor of initiating the Crown-Prince. They arrived at the Western
Gate of Brunswick on the 11th of August, as prearranged; Prussian
Majesty not yet come, but coming punctually on the morrow. It is
Fair-time; all manner of traders, pedlers, showmen rendezvousing;
many neighboring Nobility too, as was still the habit. "Such a
bulk of light luggage?" said the Custom-house people at the Gate;
--but were pacified by slipping them a ducat. Upon which we drove
to "Korn's Hotel" (if anybody now knew it); and there patiently
waited. No great things of a Hotel, says Bielfeld; but can be put
up with;--worst feature is, we discover a Hanover acquaintance
lodging close by, nothing but a wooden partition between us:
How if he should overhear!--
Prussian Majesty and suite, under universal cannon-salvos,
arrived, Sunday the 12th; to stay till Wednesday (three days) with
his august Son-in-law and Daughter here. Durchlaucht Lippe
presents himself at Court, the rest of us not; privately settles
with the Prince: "Tuesday night, eve of his Majesty's departure;
that shall be the night: at Korn's Hotel, late enough!" And there,
accordingly, on the appointed night, 14th-15th August, 1738, the
light-luggage trunks have yielded their stage-properties;
Jachin and Boaz are set up, and all things are ready;
Tiler (Kielmannsegge's Valet) watching with drawn sword against
the profane. As to our Hanover neighbor, on the other side the
partition, says Bielfeld, we waited on him, this day after dinner,
successively paying our respects; successively pledged him in so
many bumpers, he is lying dead drunk hours ago, could not overhear
a cannon-battery, he. And soon after midnight, the Crown-Prince
glides in, a Captain Wartensleben accompanying, who is also a
candidate; and the mysterious rites are accomplished on both of
them, on the Crown-Prince first, without accident, and in the
usual way.
Bielfeld could not enough admire the demeanor of this Prince, his
clearness, sense, quiet brilliancy; and how he was so "intrepid,"
and "possessed himself so gracefully in the most critical
instants." Extremely genial air, and so young, looks younger even
than his years: handsome to a degree, though of short stature.
Physiognomy, features, quite charming; fine auburn hair (BEAU
BRUN), a negligent plenty of it; "his large blue eyes have
something at once severe, sweet and gracious." Eligible Mason
indeed. Had better make despatch at present, lest Papa be getting
on the road before him!--Bielfeld delivered a small address,
composed beforehand; with which the Prince seemed to be content.
And so, with masonic grip, they made their adieus for the present;
and the Crown-Prince and Wartensleben were back at their posts,
ready for the road along with his Majesty.
His Majesty came on Sunday; goes on Wednesday, home now at a
stretch; and, we hope, has had a good time of it here, these three
days. Daughter Charlotte and her Serene Husband, well with their
subjects, well with one another, are doing well; have already two
little Children; a Boy the elder, of whom we have heard:
Boy's name is Karl, age now three; sprightly, reckoned very
clever, by the fond parents;--who has many things to do in the
world, by and by; to attack the French Revolution, and be blown to
pieces by it on the Field of Jena, for final thing! That is the
fate of little Karl, who frolics about here, so sunshiny and
ingenuous at present.
Karl's Grandmother, the Serene Dowager Duchess, Friedrich's own
Mother-in-law, his Majesty and Friedrich would also of course see
here. Fine Younger Sons of hers are coming forward; the reigning
Duke beautifully careful about the furtherance of these Cadets of
the House. Here is Prince Ferdinand, for instance; just getting
ready for the Grand Tour; goes in a month hence: [Mauvillon (FILS,
son of him whom we cite otherwise), Geschichte Ferdinands
Herzogs von Braunschweig-Luneburg (Leipzig, 1794),
i. 17-25.] a fine eupeptic loyal young fellow; who, in a twenty
years more, will be Chatham's Generalissimo, and fight the French
to some purpose. A Brother of his, the next elder, is now fighting
the Turks for his Kaiser; does not like it at all, under such
Seckendorfs and War-Ministries as there are. Then, elder still,
eldest of all the Cadets, there is Anton Ulrich, over at
Petersburg for some years past, with outlooks high enough: To wed
the Mecklenburg Princess there (Daughter of the unutterable Duke),
and be as good as Czar of all the Russias one day. Little to his
profit, poor soul!--These, historically ascertainable, are the
aspects of the Brunswick Court during those three days of Royal
Visit, in Fair-time; and may serve to date the Masonic Transaction
for us, which the Crown-Prince has just accomplished over
at Korn's.
As for the Transaction itself, there is intrinsically no harm in
this initiation, we will hope: but it behooves to be kept well
hidden from Papa. Papa's good opinion of the Prince has sensibly
risen, in the course of this Journey, "so rational, serious, not
dangling about among the women as formerly;"--and what a shock
would this of Korn's Hotel be, should Papa hear of it! Poor Papa,
from officious tale-bearers he hears many things: is in distress
about Voltaire, about Heterodoxies;--and summoned the Crown-
Prince, by express, from Reinsberg, on one occasion lately, over
to Potsdam, "to take the Communion" there, by way of case-
hardening against Voltaire and Heterodoxies! Think of it, human
readers!--We will add the following stray particulars, more or
less illustrative of the Masonic Transaction; and so end that
trifling affair.
The Captain Wartensleben, fellow-recipient of the mysteries at
Brunswick, is youngest son, by a second marriage, of old
Feldmarschall Wartensleben, now deceased; and is consequently
Uncle, Half-Uncle, of poor Lieutenant Katte, though some years
younger than Katte would now have been. Tender memories hang by
Wartensleben, in a silent way! He is Captain in the Potsdam
Giants; somewhat an intimate, and not undeservedly so, of the
Crown-Prince;--succeeds Wolden as Hofmarschall at Reinsberg,
not many months after this; Wolden having died of an apoplectic
stroke. Of Bielfeld comes a Book, slightly citable; from no
other of the Brethren, or their Feat at Kern's, comes (we may
say) anything whatever. The Crown-Prince prosecuted his
Masonry, at Reinsberg or elsewhere, occasionally, for a year or
two; but was never ardent in it; and very soon after his
Accession, left off altogether: "Child's-play and IGNIS FATUUS
mainly!" A Royal Lodge was established at Berlin, of which the
new King consented to be patron; but he never once entered the
place; and only his Portrait (a welcomely good one, still to be
found there) presided over the mysteries in that Establishment.
Harmless "fire," but too "fatuous;" mere flame-circles cut in
the air, for infants, we know how!--
With Lippe-Buckeburg there ensued some Correspondence, high
enough on his Serenity's side; but it soon languished on the
Prince's side; and in private Poetry, within a two years of
this Brunswick scene, we find Lippe used proverbially for a
type-specimen of Fools. ["Taciturne, Caton, avec mes bons
parents, Aussi fou que la Lippe met les jeunes gens."
OEuvres, xi. 80 ( Discours sur la
Faussete, written 1740).] A windy fantastic
individual;--overwhelmed in finance-difficulties too!
Lippe continued writing; but "only Secretaries now answered
him" from Berlin. A son of his, son and successor, something of
a Quixote too, but notable in Artillery-practice and otherwise,
will turn up at a future stage.
Nor is Bielfeld with his Book a thing of much moment to
Friedrich or to us. Bielfeld too has a light airy vein of talk;
loves Voltaire and the Philosophies in a light way;--knows the
arts of Society, especially the art of flattering; and would
fain make himself agreeable to the Crown-Prince, being anxious
to rise in the world. His Father is a Hamburg Merchant, Hamburg
"Sealing-wax Manufacturer," not ill off for money: Son has been
at schools, high schools, under tutors, posture-masters;
swashes about on those terms, with French ESPRIT in his mouth,
and lace ruffles at his wrists; still under thirty; showy
enough, sharp enough; considerably a coxcomb, as is still
evident. He did transiently get about Friedrich, as we shall
see; and hoped to have sold his heart to good purpose there;--
was, by and by, employed in slight functions; not found fit for
grave ones. In the course of some years, he got a title of
Baron; and sold his heart more advantageously, to some rich
Widow or Fraulein; with whom he retired to Saxony, and there
lived on an Estate he had purchased, a stranger to
Prussia thenceforth.
His Book ( Lettres Familieres et Autres,
all turning on Friedrich), which came out in 1763, at the
height of Friedrich's fame, and was much read, is still freely
cited by Historians as an Authority. But the reading of a few
pages sufficiently intimates that these "Letters" never can
have gone through a terrestrial Post-office; that they are an
afterthought, composed from vague memory and imagination, in
that fine Saxon retreat;--a sorrowful ghost-like "TRAVELS OF
ANACHARSIS," instead of living words by an eye-witness! Not to
be cited "freely" at all, but sparingly and under conditions.
They abound in small errors, in misdates, mistakes;
small fictions even, and impossible pretensions:--foolish
mortal, to write down his bit of knowledge in that form!
For the man, in spite of his lace ruffles and gesticulations,
has brisk eyesight of a superficial kind: he COULD have done us
this little service (apparently his one mission in the world,
for which Nature gave him bed and board here); and he, the lace
ruffles having gone into his soul, has been tempted into
misdoing it!--Bielfeld and Bielfeld's Book, such as they are,
appear to be the one conquest Friedrich got of Freemasonry;
no other result now traceable to us of that adventure in Korn's
Hotel, crowning event of the Journey to Loo.
SECKENDORF GETS LODGED IN GRATZ.
Feldmarschall Seckendorf, after unheard-of wrestlings with the
Turk War, and the Vienna War-Office (HOFKRIEGSRATH), is sitting,
for the last three weeks,--where thinks the reader?--in the
Fortress of Gratz among the Hills of Styria; a State-Prisoner, not
likely to get out soon! Seckendorf led forth, in 1737, "such an
Army, for number, spirit and equipment," say the Vienna people,
"as never marched against the Turk before;" and it must be owned,
his ill success has been unparalleled. The blame was not
altogether his; not chiefly his, except for his rash undertaking
of the thing, on such terms as there were. But the truth is, that
first scene we saw of him,--an Army all gone out trumpeting and
drumming into the woods to FIND its Commander-in-Chief,--was an
emblem of the Campaign in general. Excellent Army; but commanded
by nobody in particular; commanded by a HOFKRIEGSRATH at Vienna,
by a Franz Duke of Tuscany, by Feldmarschall Seckendorf, and by
subordinates who were disobedient to him: which accordingly,
almost without help of the Turk and his disorderly ferocity,
rubbed itself to pieces before long. Roamed about, now hither now
thither, with plans laid and then with plans suddenly altered,
Captain being Chaos mainly; in swampy countries, by overflowing
rivers, in hunger, hot weather, forced marches; till it was
marched gradualIy off its feet; and the clouds of chaotic Turks,
who did finally show face, had a cheap pennyworth of it. Never was
such a campaign seen as this of Seckendorf in 1737, said mankind.
Except indeed that the present one, Campaign of 1738, in those
parts, under a different hand, is still worse; and the Campaign of
1739, under still a different, will be worst of all!--Kaiser Karl
and his Austrians do not prosper in this Turk War, as the Russians
do,--who indeed have got a General equal to his task: Munnich, a
famed master in the art of handling Turks and War-Ministries:
real father of Russian Soldiering, say the Russians still.
[See MANNSTEIN for Munnich's plans with the Turk (methods and
devices of steady Discipline in small numbers VERSUS impetuous
Ferocity in great); and Berenhorst ( Betrachtungen uber
die Kriegskunst, Leipzig, 1796), a first-rate
Authority, for examples and eulogies of them.]
Campaign 1737, with clouds of chaotic Turks now sabring on the
skirts of it, had not yet ended, when Seckendorf was called out of
it; on polite pretexts, home to Vienna; and the command given to
another. At the gates of Vienna, in the last days of October,
1737, an Official Person, waiting for the Feldmarschall, was sorry
to inform him, That he, Feldmarschall Seckendorf, was under
arrest; arrest in his own house, in the KOHLMARKT (Cabbage-market
so called), a captain and twelve musketeers to watch over him with
fixed bayonets there; strictly private, till the HOFKRIEGSRATH had
satisfied themselves in a point or two. "Hmph!" snuffled he;
with brow blushing slate-color, I should think, and gray eyes much
alight. And ever since, for ten months or so, Seckendorf, sealed
up in the Cabbage-market, has been fencing for life with the
HOFKRIEGSRATH; who want satisfaction upon "eighty-six" different
"points;" and make no end of chicaning to one's clear answers.
And the Jesuits preach, too: "A Heretic, born enemy of Christ and
his Kaiser; what is the use of questioning!" And the Heathen rage,
and all men gnash their teeth, in this uncomfortable manner.
Answering done, there comes no verdict, much less any acquittal;
the captain and twelve musketeers, three of them with fixed
bayonets in one's very bedroom, continue. One evening, 21st July,
1738, glorious news from the seat of War--not TILL evening, as the
Imperial Majesty was out hunting--enters Vienna; blowing trumpets;
shaking flags: "Grand Victory over the Turks!" so we call some
poor skirmish there has been; and Vienna bursting all into three-
times-three, the populace get very high. Populace rush to the
Kohlmarkt: break the Seckendorf windows; intent to massacre the
Seckendorf; had not fresh military come, who were obliged to fire
and kill one or two. "The house captain and his twelve musketeers,
of themselves, did wonders; Seckendorf and all his domestics were
in arms:" "JARNI-BLEU" for the last time!--This is while the
Crown-Prince is at Wesel; sound asleep, most likely; Loo, and the
Masonic adventure, perhaps twinkling prophetically in his dreams.
At two next morning, an Official Gentleman informs Seckendorf,
That he, for his part, must awaken, and go to Gratz. And in one
hour more (3 A.M.), the Official Gentleman rolls off with him;
drives all day; and delivers his Prisoner at Gratz:--"Not so much
as a room ready there; Prisoner had to wait an hour in the
carriage," till some summary preparation were made. Wall-neighbors
of the poor Feldmarschall, in his Fortress here, were "a GOLD-COOK
(swindling Alchemist), who had gone crazy; and an Irish
Lieutenant, confined thirty-two years for some love-adventure,
likewise pretty crazy; their noises in the night-time much
disturbed the Feldmarschall." [ Seckendorfs Leben, ii. 170-277. See Schmettau,
pp. 27-59.] One human thing there still is in his lot, the
Feldmarschall's old Grafinn. True old Dame, she, both in the
Kohlmarkt and at Gratz, stands by him, "imprisoned along with him"
if it must be so; ministering, comforting, as only a true Wife
can;--and hope has not quite taken wing.
Rough old Feldmarschall; now turned of sixty: never made such a
Campaign before, as this of 1737 followed by 1738! There sits he;
and will not trouble us any more during the present Kaiser's
lifetime. Friedrich Wilhelm is amazed at these sudden cantings of
Fortune's wheel, and grieves honestly as for an old friend:
even the Crown-Prince finds Seckendorf punished unjustly; and is
almost, sorry for him, after all that has come and gone.
THE EAR OF JENKINS RE-EMERGES.
We must add the following, distilled from the English Newspapers,
though it is now almost four months after date:--
"LONDON, 1st APRIL, 1738. In the English House of Commons, much
more in the English Public, there has been furious debating for a
fortnight past: Committee of the whole House, examining witnesses,
hearing counsel; subject, the Termagant of Spain, and her West-
Indian procedures;--she, by her procedures somewhere, is always
cutting out work for mankind! How English and other strangers,
fallen-in with in those seas, are treated by the Spaniards,
readers have heard, nay have chanced to see; and it is a fact
painfully known to all nations. Fact which England, for one
nation, can no longer put up with. Walpole and the Official
Persons would fain smooth the matter; but the West-India Interest,
the City, all Mercantile and Navigation Interests are in dead
earnest: Committee of the whole House, 'Presided by Alderman
Perry,' has not ears enough to hear the immensities of evidence
offered; slow Public is gradually kindling to some sense of it.
This had gone on for two weeks, when--what shall we say?--the
EAR OF JENKINS re-emerged for the second time; and produced
important effects!
"Where Jenkins had been all this while,--steadfastly navigating to
and fro, steadfastly eating tough junk with a wetting of rum;
not thinking too much of past labors, yet privately 'always
keeping his lost Ear in cotton' (with a kind of ursine piety, or
other dumb feeling),--no mortal now knows. But to all mortals it
is evident he was home in London at this time; no doubt a noted
member of Wapping society, the much-enduring Jenkins.
And witnesses, probably not one but many, had mentioned him to
this Committee, as a case eminently in point. Committee, as can
still be read in its Rhadamanthine Journals, orders: 'DIE JOVIS,
16* MARTII 1737-1738, That Captain Robert Jenkins do attend this
House immediately;' and then more specially, '17* MARTII" captious
objections having risen in Official quarters, as we guess,--'That
Captain Robert Jenkins do attend upon Tuesday morning next.'
[ Commons Journals, xxiii. (in diebus).]
Tuesday next is 2lst March,--1st of April, 1738, by our modern
Calendar;--and on that day, not adoubt, Jenkins does attend;
narrates that tremendous passage we already heard of, seven years
ago, in the entrance of the Gulf of Florida; and produces his Ear
wrapt in cotton:--setting all on flame (except the Official
persons) at sight of it."
Official persons, as their wont is in the pressure of debate,
endeavored to deny, to insinuate in their vile Newspapers, That
Jenkins lost his Ear nearer home and not for nothing; as one still
reads in the History Books. [Tindal (xx. 372). Coxe, &c.] Sheer
calumnies, we now find. Jenkins's account was doubtless abundantly
emphatic; but there is no ground to question the substantial truth
of him and it. And so, after seven years of unnoticeable burning
upon the thick skin of the English Public, the case of Jenkins
accidentally burns through, and sets England bellowing; such a
smart is there of it,--not to be soothed by Official wet-cloths;
but getting worse and worse, for the nineteen months ensuing.
And in short--But we will not anticipate!
Chapter VI.
LAST YEAR OF REINSBERG; JOURNEY TO PREUSSEN.
The Idyllium of Reinsberg--of which, except in the way of sketchy
suggestion, there can no history be given--lasted less than four
years; and is now coming to an end, unexpectedly soon. A pleasant
Arcadian Summer in one's life;--though it has not wanted its
occasional discords, flaws of ill weather in the general sunshine.
Papa, always in uncertain health of late, is getting heavier of
foot and of heart under his heavy burdens; and sometimes falls
abstruse enough, liable to bewilderments from bad people and
events: not much worth noticing here. [See Pollnitz, ii. 509-515;
Friedrich's Letter to Wilhelmina ("Berlin, 20th January, 1739:" in
OEuvres, xxvii. part 1st, pp. 60, 61); &c.
&c.] But the Crown-Prince has learned to deal with all this; all
this is of transient nature; and a bright long future seems to lie
ahead at Reinsberg;--brightened especially by the Literary
Element; which, in this year of 1739, is brisker than it had ever
been. Distinguished Visitors, of a literary turn, look in at
Reinsberg; the Voltaire Correspondence is very lively;
on Friedrich's part there is copious production, various
enterprise, in the form of prose and verse; thoughts even of going
to press with some of it: in short, the Literary Interest rises
very prominent at Reinsberg in 1739. Biography is apt to forget
the Literature there (having her reasons); but must at last take
some notice of it, among the phenomena of the year.
To the young Prince himself, "courting tranquillity," as his door-
lintel intimated, [ "Frederico tranquillitatem colenti"
(Infra, p. 123).] and forbidden to be active except
within limits, this of Literature was all along the great light of
existence at Reinsberg; the supplement to all other employments
or wants of employment there. To Friedrich himself, in those old
days, a great and supreme interest; while again, to the modern
Biographer of him, it has become dark and vacant; a thing to be
shunned, not sought. So that the fact as it stood with Friedrich
differs far from any description that can be given of the fact.
Alas, we have said already, and the constant truth is, Friedrich's
literatures, his distinguished literary visitors and enterprises,
which were once brand-new and brilliant, have grown old as a
garment, and are a sorrow rather than otherwise to existing
mankind! Conscientious readers, who would represent to themselves
the vanished scene at Reinsberg, in this point more especially,
must make an effort.
As biographical documents, these Poetries and Proses of the young
man give a very pretty testimony of him; but are not of value
otherwise. In fact, they promise, if we look well into them, That
here is probably a practical faculty and intellect of the highest
kind; which again, on the speculative, especially on the poetical
side, will never be considerable, nor has even tried to be so.
This young soul does not deal in meditation at all, and his
tendencies are the reverse of sentimental. Here is no
introspection, morbid or other, no pathos or complaint, no
melodious informing of the public what dreadful emotions you labor
under: here, in rapid prompt form, indicating that it is truth and
not fable, are generous aspirations for the world and yourself,
generous pride, disdain of the ignoble, of the dark, mendacious;--
here, in short, is a swift-handed, valiant, STEEL-bright kind of
soul; very likely for a King's, if other things answer, and not
likely for a Poet's. No doubt he could have made something of
Literature too; could have written Books, and left some stamp of a
veracious, more or less victorious intellect, in that strange
province too. But then he must have applied himself to it, as he
did to reigning: done in the cursory style, we see what it has
come to.
It is certain, Friedrich's reputation suffers, at this day, from
his writing. From his NOT having written nothing, he stands lower
with the world. Which seems hard measure;--though perhaps it is
the law of the case, after all. "Nobody in these days," says my
poor Friend, "has the least notion of the sinful waste there is in
talk, whether by pen or tongue. Better probably that King
Friedrich had written no Verses; nay I know not that David's
Psalms did David's Kingship any good!" Which may be truer than it
seems. Fine aspirations, generous convictions, purposes,--they are
thought very fine: but it is good, on various accounts, to keep
them rather silent; strictly unvocal, except on call of real
business; so dangerous are they for becoming conscious of
themselves! Most things do not ripen at all except underground.
And it is a sad but sure truth, that every time you SPEAK of a
fine purpose, especially if with eloquence and to the admiration
of by-standers, there is the LESS chance of your ever making a
fact of it in your poor life.--If Reinsberg, and its vacancy of
great employment, was the cause of Friedrich's verse-writing, we
will not praise Reinsberg on that head! But the truth is,
Friedrich's verses came from him with uncommon fluency; and were
not a deep matter, but a shallow one, in any sense. Not much more
to him than speaking with a will; than fantasying on the flute in
an animated strain. Ever and anon through his life, on small hint
from without or on great, there was found a certain leakage of
verses, which he was prompt to utter;--and the case at Reinsberg,
or afterwards, is not so serious as we might imagine.
PINE'S HORACE; AND THE ANTI-MACHIAVEL.
In late months Friedrich had conceived one notable project; which
demands a word in this place. Did modern readers ever hear of
"John Pine, the celebrated English Engraver"? John Pine, a man of
good scholarship, good skill with his burin, did "Tapestries of
the House of Lords," and other things of a celebrated nature,
famous at home and abroad: but his peculiar feat, which had
commended him at Reinsberg, was an Edition of HORACE: exquisite
old FLACCUS brought to perfection, as it were; all done with
vignettes, classical borderings, symbolic marginal ornaments, in
fine taste and accuracy, the Text itself engraved; all by the
exquisite burin of Pine. ["London, 1737" ( Biographie
Universelle, xxxiv. 465).] This Edition had come out
last year, famous over the world; and was by and by, as rumor
bore, to be followed by a VIRGIL done in the like exquisite
manner.
The Pine HORACE, part of the Pine VIRGIL too, still exist in the
libraries of the curious; and are doubtless known to the proper
parties, though much forgotten by others of us. To Friedrich,
scanning the Pine phenomenon with interest then brand-new, it
seemed an admirable tribute to classical genius; and the idea
occurred to him, "Is not there, by Heaven's blessing, a living
genius, classical like those antique Romans, and worthy of a like
tribute?" Friedrich's idea was, That Voltaire being clearly the
supreme of Poets, the HENRIADE, his supreme of Poems, ought to be
engraved like FLACCUS; text and all, with vignettes, tail-pieces,
classical borderings beautifully symbolic and exact; by the
exquisite burin of Pine. Which idea the young hero-worshipper, in
spite of his finance-difficulties, had resolved to realize;
and was even now busy with it, since his return from Loo.
"Such beautiful enthusiasm," say some readers; "and in behalf of
that particular demi-god!" Alas, yes; to Friedrich he was the best
demi-god then going; and Friedrich never had any doubt about him.
For the rest, this heroic idea could not realize itself; and we
are happy to have nothing more to do with Pine or the HENRIADE.
Correspondences were entered into with Pine, aud some pains taken:
Pine's high prices were as nothing; but Pine was busy with his
VIRGIL; probably, in fact, had little stomach for the HENRIADE;
"could not for seven years to come enter upon it:" so that the
matter had to die away; and nothing came of it but a small
DISSERTATION, or Introductory Essay, which the Prince had got
ready,--which is still to be found printed in Voltaire's Works
[ OEuvres, xiii. 393-402.] and in Friedrich's, if anybody
now cared much to read it. Preuss says it was finished, "the 10th
August, 1739;" and that minute fact in Chronology, with the above
tale of Hero-worship hanging to it, will suffice my readers
and me.
But there is another literary project on hand, which did take
effect;--much worthy of mention, this year; the whole world having
risen into such a Chorus of TE DEUM at sight of it next year.
In this year falls, what at any rate was a great event to
Friedrich, as literary man: the printing of his first Book,--
assiduous writing of it with an eye to print. The Book is that
"celebrated ANTI-MACHIAVEL," ever-praiseworthy Refutation of
Machiavel's PRINCE; concerning which there are such immensities of
Voltaire Correspondence, now become, like the Book itself, inane
to all readers. This was the chosen soul's employment of
Friedrich, the flower of life to him, at Reinsberg, through the
yea? 1739. It did not actually get to press till Spring 1740;
nor actually come out till Autumn,--by which time a great change
had occurred in Friedrich's title and circumstances: but we may as
well say here what little is to be said of it for modern readers.
"The Crown-Prince, reading this bad Book of Machiavel's, years
ago, had been struck, as all honest souls, especially governors or
apprentices to governing, must be, if they thought of reading such
a thing, with its badness, its falsity, detestability; and came by
degrees, obliquely fishing out Voltaire's opinion as he went
along, on the notion of refuting Machiavel; and did refute him,
the best he could. Set down, namely, his own earnest contradiction
to such ungrounded noxious doctrines; elaborating the same more
and more into clear logical utterance; till it swelled into a
little Volume; which, so excellent was it, so important to
mankind, Voltaire and friends were clear for publishing.
Published accordingly it was; goes through the press next Summer
(1740), under Voltaire's anxious superintendence: [Here, gathered
from Friedrich's Letters to Voltaire, is the Chronology of the
little Enterprise:--
1738, MARCH 21, JUNE 17, "Machiavel a baneful man," thinks
Friedrich. "Ought to be refuted by somebody?" thinks he (date not
known).
1739, MARCH 22, Friedrich thinks of doing it himself. Has done
it, DECEMBER 4;--"a Book which ought to be printed," say Voltaire
and the literary visitors.
1740, APRIL 26, Book given up to Voltaire for printing. Printing
finished; Book appears, "end of SEPTEMBER," when a great change
had occurred in Friedrich's title and position.] for the Prince
has at length consented; and Voltaire hands the Manuscript, with
mystery yet with hints, to a Dutch Bookseller, one Van Duren at
the Hague, who is eager enough to print such an article.
Voltaire himself--such his magnanimous friendship, especially if
one have Dutch Lawsuits, or business of one's own, in those parts
--takes charge of correcting; lodges himself in the 'Old Court'
(Prussian Mansion, called VIEILLE COUR, at the Hague, where
'Luiscius,' figuratively speaking, may 'get an alms' from us);
and therefrom corrects, alters; corresponds with the Prince and
Van Duren, at a great rate. Keeps correcting, altering, till Van
Duren thinks he is spoiling it for sale;--and privately determines
to preserve the original Manuscript, and have an edition of that,
with only such corrections as seem good to Van Duren. A treasonous
step on this mule of a Bookseller's part, thinks Voltaire;
but mulishly persisted in by the man. Endless correspondence, to
right and left, ensues; intolerably wearisome to every reader.
And, in fine, there came out, in Autumn next,"--the Crown-Prince
no longer a Crown-Prince by that time, but shining conspicuous
under Higher Title,--"not one ANTI-MACHIAVEL only, but a couple or
a trio of ANTI-MACHIAVELS; as printed 'at the Hague;' as reprinted
'at London' or elsewhere; the confused Bibliography of which has
now fallen very insignificant. First there was the Voltaire text,
Authorized Edition, 'end of September, 1740;' then came, in few
weeks, the Van Duren one; then, probably, a third, combining the
two, the variations given as foot-notes:--in short, I know not how
many editions, translations, printings and reprintings; all the
world being much taken up with such a message from the upper
regions, and eager to read it in any form.
"As to Friedrich himself, who of course says nothing of the
ANTI-MACHIAVEL in public, he privately, to Voltaire, disowns all
these editions; and intends to give a new one of his own, which
shall be the right article; but never did it, having far other
work cut out for him in the months that came. But how zealous the
worlds humor was in that matter, no modern reader can conceive to
himself. In the frightful Compilation called HELDEN-GESCHICHTE,
which we sometimes cite, there are, excerpted from the then
'Bibliotheques' (NOUVELLE BIBLIOTHEQUE and another; shining
Periodicals of the time, now gone quite dead), two 'reviews' of
the ANTI-MACHIAVEL, which fill modern readers with amazement:
such a DOMINE DIMITTAS chanted over such an article!--These
details, in any other than the Biographical point of view, are now
infinitely unimportant."
Truly, yes! The Crown-Prince's ANTI-MACHIAVEL, final correct
edition (in two forms, Voltaire's as corrected, and the Prince's
own as written), stands now in clear type; [Preuss,
OEuvres de Frederic, viii. 61-163.] and, after all
that jumble of printing and counter-printing, we can any of us
read it in a few hours; but, alas, almost none of us with the
least interest, or, as it were, with any profit whatever.
So different is present tense from past, in all things, especially
in things like these! It is sixscore years since the
ANTI-MACHIAVEL appeared. The spectacle of one who was himself a
King (for the mysterious fact was well known to Van Duren and
everybody) stepping forth to say with conviction, That Kingship
was not a thing of attorney mendacity, to be done under the
patronage of Beelzebub, but of human veracity, to be set about
under quite Other patronage; and that, in fact, a King was the
"born servant of his People" (DOMESTIQUE Friedrich once calls it),
rather than otherwise: this, naturally enough, rose upon the then
populations, unused to such language, like the dawn of a new day;
and was welcomed with such applauses as are now incredible,
after all that has come and gone! Alas, in these sixscore
years, it has been found so easy to profess and speak, even
with sincerity! The actual Hero-Kings were long used to be
silent; and the Sham-Hero kind grow only the more desperate
for us, the more they speak and profess!--This ANTI-MACHIAVEL of
Friedrich's is a clear distinct Treatise; confutes, or at least
heartily contradicts, paragraph by paragraph, the incredible
sophistries of Machiavel. Nay it leaves us, if we sufficiently
force our attention, with the comfortable sense that his Royal
Highness is speaking with conviction, and honestly from the heart,
in the affair: but that is all the conquest we get of it, in these
days. Treatise fallen more extinct to existing mankind it would
not be easy to name.
Perhaps indeed mankind is getting weary of the question
altogether. Machiavel himself one now reads only by compulsion.
"What is the use of arguing with anybody that can believe in
Machiavel?" asks mankind, or might well ask; and, except for
Editorial purposes, eschews any ANTI-MACHIAVEL; impatient to be
rid of bane and antidote both. Truly the world has had a pother
with this little Nicolo Machiavelli and his perverse little Book:
--pity almost that a Friedrich Wilhelm, taking his rounds at that
point of time, had not had the "refuting" of him; Friedrich
Wilhelm's method would have been briefer than Friedrich's! But let
us hope the thing is now, practically, about completed. And as to
the other question, "Was the Signor Nicolo serious in this
perverse little Book; or did he only do it ironically, with a
serious inverse purpose?" we will leave that to be decided, any
time convenient, by people who are much at leisure in the world!--
The printing of the ANTI-MACHIAVEL was not intrinsically momentous
in Friedrich's history; yet it might as well have been dispensed
with. He had here drawn a fine program, and needlessly placarded
it for the street populations: and afterwards there rose, as could
not fail on their part, comparison between program and
performance; scornful cry, chiefly from men of weak judgment,
"Is this King an ANTI-Machiavel, then? Pfui!" Of which,--though
Voltaire's voice, too, was heard in it, in angry moments,--we
shall say nothing: the reader, looking for himself, will judge by
and by. And herewith enough of the ANTI-MACHIAVEL. Composition of
ANTI-MACHIAVEL and speculation of the Pine HENRIADE lasted, both
of them, all through this Year 1739, and farther: from these two
items, not to mention any other, readers can figure sufficiently
how literary a year it was.
FRIEDRICH IN PREUSSEN AGAIN; AT THE STUD OF TRAKEHNEN.
A TRAGICALLY GREAT EVENT COMING ON.
In July this year the Crown-Prince went with Papa on the Prussian
Review-journey. ["Set out, 7th July" ( OEuvres, xxvii. part lst, 67 n.).] Such attendance on Review-
journeys, a mark of his being well with Papa, is now becoming
usual; they are agreeable excursions, and cannot but be
instructive as well. On this occasion, things went beautifully
with him. Out in those grassy Countries, in the bright Summer,
once more he had an unusually fine time;--and two very special
pleasures befell him. First was, a sight of the Emigrants, our
Salzburgers and other, in their flourishing condition, over in
Lithuania yonder. Delightful to see how the waste is blossoming up
again; busy men, with their industries, their steady pious
husbandries, making all things green and fruitful: horse-droves,
cattle-herds, waving cornfields;--a very "SCHMALZGRUBE (Butter-
pit)" of those Northern parts, as it is since called. [Busching,
Erdbeschreibung, ii. 1049.] The Crown-Prince's own words on this
matter we will give; they are in a Letter of his to Voltaire,
perhaps already known to some readers;--and we can observe he
writes rather copiously from those localities at present, and in
a cheerful humor with everybody.
"INSTERBURG, 27th JULY, 1739 (Crown-Prince to Voltaire). ...
Prussian Lithuania is a Country a hundred and twenty miles long,
by from sixty to forty broad; ["Miles ENGLISH," we always mean,
UNLESS &c.] it was ravaged by Pestilence at the beginning of this
Century; and they say three hundred thousand people died of
disease and famine." Ravaged by Pestilence and the neglect of King
Friedrich I.; till my Father, once his hands were free, made
personal survey of it, and took it up, in earnest.
"Since that time," say twenty years ago, "there is no expense that
the King has been afraid of, in order to succeed in his salutary
views. He made, in the first place, regulations full of wisdom;
he rebuilt wherever the Pestilence had desolated: thousands of
families, from the ends of Europe," seventeen thousand Salzburgers
for the last item, "were conducted hither; the Country repeopled
itself; trade began to flourish again;--and now, in these fertile
regions, abundance reigns more than it ever did.
"There are above half a million of inhabitants in Lithuania;
there are more towns than there ever were, more flocks than
formerly, more wealth and more productiveness than in any other
part of Germany. And all this that I tell you of is due to the
King alone: who not only gave the orders, but superintended the
execution of them; it was he that devised the plans, and himself
got them carried to fulfilment; and spared neither care nor pains,
nor immense expenditures, nor promises nor recompenses, to secure
happiness and life to this half-million of thinking beings, who
owe to him alone that they have possessions and felicity in
the world.
"I hope this detail does not weary you. I depend on your humanity
extending itself to your Lithuanian brethren, as well as to your
French, English, German, or other,--all the more as, to my great
astonishment, I passed through villages where you hear nothing
spoken but French.--I have found something so heroic, in the
generous and laborious way in which the King addressed himself to
making this desert flourish with inhabitants and happy industries
and fruits, that it seemed to me you would feel the same
sentiments in learning the circumstances of such a
re-establishment.
"I daily expect news of you from Enghien [in those Dutch-Lawsuit
Countries]. ... The divine Emilie; ... the Duke [D'Aremberg,
Austrian Soldier, of convivial turn,--remote Welsh-Uncle to a
certain little Prince de Ligne, now spinning tops in those parts;
[Born 23d May, 1735, this latter little Prince; lasted till 13th
December, 1814 ("DANSE, MAIS IL NE MARCHE PAS").] not otherwise
interesting], whom Apollo contends for against Bacchues. ...
Adieu. NE M'OUBLIEZ PAS, MON CHER AMI." [ OEuvres, xxi. 304, 305.]
This is one pleasant scene, to the Crown-Prince and us, in those
grassy localities. And now we have to mention that, about a
fortnight later, at Konigsberg one day, in reference to a certain
Royal Stud or Horse-breeding Establishment in those same
Lithuanian regions, there had a still livelier satisfaction
happened him; satisfaction of a personal and filial nature.
The name of this Royal Stud, inestimable on such ground, is
Trakehnen,--lies south of Tilsit, in an upper valley of the Pregel
river;--very extensive Horse-Establishment, "with seven farms
under it," say the Books, and all "in the most perfect order,"
they need hardly add, Friedrich Wilhelm being master of it.
Well, the Royal Party was at Konigsberg, so far on the road
homewards again from those outlying parts, when Friedrich Wilhelm
said one day to his Son, quite in a cursory manner, "I give thee
that Stud of Trakehnen; thou must go back and look to it;" which
struck Fritz quite dumb at the moment.
For it is worth near upon 2,000 pounds a year (12,000 thalers);
a welcome new item in our impoverished budget; and it is an
undeniable sign of Papa's good-humor with us, which is more
precious still. Fritz made his acknowledgments, eloquent with
looks, eloquent with voice, on coming to himself; and is, in
fact, very proud of his gift, and celebrates it to his Wilhelmina,
to Camas and others who have a right to know such a thing.
Grand useful gift; and handed over by Papa grandly, in three
business words, as if it had been a brace of game: "I give it
thee, Fritz!" A thing not to be forgotten. "At bottom, Friedrich
Wilhelm was not avaricious" (not a miser, only a man grandly
abhorring waste, as the poor vulgar cannot do), "not avaricious,"
says Pollnitz once; "he made munificent gifts, and never thought
of them more." This of Trakehnen,--perhaps there might be a whiff
of coming Fate concerned in it withal: "I shall soon be dead, not
able to give thee anything, poor Fritz!" To the Prince and us it
is very beautiful; a fine effulgence of the inner man of Friedrich
Wilhelm. The Prince returned to Trakehnen, on this glad errand;
settled the business details there; and, after a few days, went
home by a route of his own;--well satisfied with this Prussian-
Review journey, as we may imagine.
++++++SEE EARLIER--- Prussian Review-journey (placing of hyphen)
One sad thing there was, though Friedrich did not yet know how
sad, in this Review-journey: the new fit of illness that overtook
his Majesty. From Pollnitz, who was of the party, we have details
on that head. In his Majesty's last bad illness, five years ago,
when all seemed hopeless, it appears the surgeons had relieved
him,--in fact recovered him, bringing off the bad humors in
quantity,--by an incision in the foot or leg. In the course of the
present fatigues, this old wound broke out again; which of course
stood much in the way of his Majesty; and could not be neglected,
as probably the causes of it were. A regimental surgeon, Pollnitz
says, was called in; who, in two days, healed the wound,--and
declared all to be right again; though in fact, as we may judge,
it was dangerously worse than before. "All well here," writes
Friedrich; "the King has been out of order, but is now entirely
recovered (TOUT A FAIT REMIS)." ["Konigsberg, 30th July, 1739," to
his Wife ( OEuvres, xxvi. 6).]
Much reviewing and heavy business followed at Konigsberg;--gift of
Trakehnen, and departure of the Crown-Prince for Trakehnen,
winding it up. Directly on the heel of which, his Majesty turned
homewards, the Crown-Prince not to meet him till once at Berlin
again. Majesty's first stage was at Pillau, where we have been.
At Pillau, or next day at Dantzig, Pollnitz observed a change in
his Majesty's humor, which had been quite sunshiny all this
journey hitherto. At Dantzig Pollnitz first noticed it; but at
every new stage it grew worse, evil accidents occurring to worsen
it; and at Berlin it was worst of all;--and, alas, his poor
Majesty never recovered his sunshine in this world again! Here is
Pollnitz's account of the journey homewards:--
"Till now," till Pillau and Dantzig, "his Majesty had been in
especially good humor; but in Dantzig his cheerfulness forsook
him;--and it never came back. He arrived about ten at night in
that City [Wednesday, 12th August, or thereby]; slept there;
and was off again next morning at five. He drove only thirty miles
this day; stopped in Lupow [coast road through Pommern], with Herr
von Grumkow [the late Grumkow's Brother], Kammer President in this
Pommern Province. From Lupow he went to a poor Village near
Belgard, EIGHTY miles farther;"--last village on the great road,
Belgard lying to left a little, on a side road;--"and stayed
there overnight.
"At Belgard, next morning, he reviewed the Dragoon Regiment von
Platen; and was very ill content with it. And nobody, with the
least understanding of that business, but must own that never did
Prussian Regiment manoeuvre worse. Conscious themselves how bad it
was, they lost head, and got into open confusion. The King did all
that was possible to help them into order again. He withdrew
thrice over, to give the Officers time to recover themselves;
but it was all in vain. The King, contrary to wont, restrained
himself amazingly, and would not show his displeasure in public.
He got into his carriage, and drove away with the Furst of
Anhalt," Old Dessauer, "and Von Winterfeld," Captain in the Giant
Regiment, "who is now Major-General von Winterfeld; [Major-General
since 1743, of high fame; fell in fight, 7th September, 1757.] not
staying to dine with General von Platen, as was always his custom
with Commandants whom he had reviewed. He bade Prince Wilhelm and
the rest of us stay and dine; he himself drove away,"--towards the
great road again, and some uncertain lodging there.
"We stayed accordingly; and did full justice to the good cheer,"--
though poor Platen would certainly look flustered, one may fancy.
"But as the Prince was anxious to come up with his Majesty again,
and knew not where he would meet him, we had to be very swift with
the business.
"We found the King with Anhalt and Winterfeld, by and by; sitting
in a village, in front of a barn, and eating a cold pie there,
which the Furst of Anhalt had chanced to have with him; his
Majesty, owing to what he had seen on the parade-ground, was in
the utmost ill-humor (HOCHST UBLER LAUNE). Next day, Saturday, he
went a hundred and fifty or two hundred miles; and arrived in
Berlin at ten at night. Not expected there till the morrow; so
that his rooms were locked,--her Majesty being over in Monbijou,
giving her children a Ball;" [Pollnitz, ii. 534-537.]--and we can
fancy what a frame of mind there was!
Nobody, not at first even the Doctors, much heeded this new fit of
illness; which went and came: "changed temper," deeper or less
deep gloom of "bad humor," being the main phenomenon to by-
standers. But the sad truth was, his Majesty never did recover his
sunshine; from Pillau onwards he was slowly entering into the
shadows of the total Last Eclipse; and his journeyings and
reviewings in this world were all done. Ten months hence, Pollnitz
and others knew better what it had been!--
Chapter VII.
LAST YEAR OF REINSBERG: TRANSIT OF BALTIMORE AND OTHER PERSONS AND THINGS.
Friedrich had not been long home again from Trakehnen and
Preussen, when the routine of things at Reinsberg was illuminated
by Visitors, of brilliant and learned quality; some of whom, a
certain Signor Algarotti for one, require passing mention here.
Algarotti, who became a permanent friend or satellite, very
luminous to the Prince, and was much about him in coming years,
first shone out upon the scene at this time,--coming unexpectedly,
and from the Eastward as it chanced.
On his own score, Algarotti has become a wearisome literary man to
modern readers: one of those half-remembered men; whose books seem
to claim a reading, and do not repay it you when given. Treatises,
of a serious nature, ON THE OPERA; setting forth, in earnest, the
potential "moral uses" of the Opera, and dedicated to Chatham;
Neutonianismo per le Donne (Astronomy for
Ladies): the mere Titles of such things are fatally sufficient to
us; and we cannot, without effort, nor with it, recall the
brilliancy of Algarotti and them to his contemporary world.
Algarotti was a rich Venetian Merchant's Son, precisely about the
Crown-Prince's age; shone greatly in his studies at Bologna and
elsewhere; had written Poesies (RIME); written especially that
Newtonianism for the Dames (equal to
Fontenelle, said Fame, and orthodox Newtonian withal, not
heterodox or Cartesian); and had shone, respected, at Paris, on
the strength of it, for three or four years past: friend of
Voltaire in consequence, of Voltaire and his divine Emilie, and a
welcome guest at Cirey; friend of the cultivated world generally,
which was then laboring, divine Emilie in the van of it, to
understand Newton and be orthodox in this department of things.
Algarotti did fine Poesies, too, once and again; did Classical
Scholarships, and much else: everywhere a clear-headed,
methodically distinct, concise kind of man. A high style of
breeding about him, too; had powers of pleasing, and used them:
a man beautifully lucent in society, gentle yet impregnable there;
keeping himself unspotted from the world and its discrepancies,--
really with considerable prudence, first and last.
He is somewhat of the Bielfeld type; a Merchant's Son, we observe,
like Bielfeld; but a Venetian Merchant's, not a Hamburg's; and
also of better natural stuff than Bielfeld. Concentrated himself
upon his task with more seriousness, and made a higher thing of it
than Bielfeld; though, after all, it was the same task the two
had. Alas, our "Swan of Padua" (so they sometimes called him) only
sailed, paddling grandly, no-whither,--as the Swan-Goose of the
Elbe did, in a less stately manner! One cannot well bear to read
his Books. There is no light upon Friedrich to tempt us;
better light than Bielfeld's there could have been, and much of
it: but he prudently, as well as proudly, forbore such topics.
He approaches very near fertility and geniality in his writings,
but never reaches it. Dilettantism become serious and strenuous,
in those departments--Well, it was beautiful to young Friedrich
and the world at that time, though it is not to us!--Young
Algarotti, twenty-seven this year, has been touring about as a
celebrity these four years past, on the strength of his fine
manners and Newtonianism for the Dames.
It was under escort of Baltimore, "an English Milord," recommended
from Potsdam itself, that Algarotti came to Reinsberg; the Signor
had much to do with English people now and after. Where Baltimore
first picked him up, I know not: but they have been to Russia
together; Baltimore by twelve years the elder of the two: and now,
getting home towards England again, they call at Reinsberg in the
fine Autumn weather;--and considerably captivate the Crown-Prince,
Baltimore playing chief, in that as in other points. The visit
lasted five days: [20th-25th September, 1739 ( OEuvres de
Frederic, xiv. p. xiv).] there was copious speech on
many things;--discussion about Printing of the ANTI MACHIAVEL;
Algarotti to get it printed in England, Algarotti to get Pine and
his Engraved HENRIADE put under way; neither of which projects
took effect;--readers can conceive what a charming five days these
were. Here, in the Crown-Prince's own words, are some brief
glimmerings which will suffice us:--
REINSBERG, 25th SEPT. 1739 (Crown-Prince to Papa). ... that
"nothing new has occurred in the Regiment, and we have few sick.
Here has the English Milord, who was at Potsdam, passing through
[stayed five days, though we call it passing, and suppress the
Algarotti, Baltimore being indeed chief]. He is gone towards
Hamburg, to take ship for England there. As I heard that my Most
All-gracious Father wished I should show him courtesy, I have done
for him what I could. The Prince of Mirow has also been here,"--
our old Strelitz friend. Of Baltimore nothing more to Papa. But to
another Correspondent, to the good Suhm (who is now at Petersburg,
and much in our intimacy, ready to transact loans for us,
translate Wolf, or do what is wanted), there is this passage
next day:--
REINSBERG, 26th SEPTEMBER, 1739 (to Suhm). "We have had Milord
Baltimore here, and the young Algarotti; both of them men who, by
their accomplishments, cannot but conciliate the esteem and
consideration of all who see them. We talked much of you [Suhm],
of Philosophy, of Science, Art; in short, of all that can be
included in the taste of cultivated people (HONNETES GENS)."
[ OEuvres de Frederic, xvi. 378.] And again
to another, about two weeks hence:--
REINSBERG, 10th OCTOBER, 1739 (to Voltaire). "We have had Milord
Baltimore and Algarotti here, who are going back to England.
This Milord is a very sensible man (HOMME TRESSENSE);
who possesses a great deal of knowledge, and thinks, like us, that
sciences can be no disparagement to nobility, nor degrade an
illustrious rank. I admired the genius of this ANGLAIS, as one
does a fine face through a crape veil. He speaks French very ill,
yet one likes to hear him speak it; and as for his English, he
pronounces it so quick, there is no possibility of following him.
He calls a Russian 'a mechanical animal.' He says 'Petersburg is
the eye of Russia, with which it keeps civilized countries in
sight; if you took this eye from it, Russia would fall again into
barbarism, out of which it is just struggling.' [Ib. xxi. 326,
327.] ... Young Algarotti, whom you know, pleased me beyond
measure. He promised that he"--But Baltimore, promise or not, is
the chief figure at present.
Evidently an original kind of figure to us, CET ANGLAIS.
And indeed there is already finished a rhymed EPISTLE to
Baltimore; Epitre sur la Liberte (copy goes
in that same LETTER, for Voltaire's behoof), which dates itself
likewise October 10th; beginning,--
"L'esprit libre, Milord, qui regne en Angleterre,"
which, though it is full of fine sincere sentiments, about human
dignity, papal superstition, Newton, Locke, and aspirations for
progress of culture in Prussia, no reader could stand at
this epoch.
What Baltimore said in answer to the EPITRE, we do not know;
probably not much: it does not appear he ever saw or spoke to
Friedrich a second time. Three weeks after, Friedrich writing to
Algarotti, has these words: "I pray you make my friendships to
Milord Baltimore, whose character and manner of thinking I truly
esteem. I hope he has, by this time, got my EPITRE on the English
Liberty of Thought." [29th October 1739, To Algarotti in London
( OEuvres, xviii. 5).] And so Baltimore
passes on, silent in History henceforth,--though Friedrich seems
to have remembered him to late times, as a kind of type-figure
when England came into his head. For the sake of this small
transit over the sun's disk, I have made some inquiry about
Baltimore; but found very little;--perhaps enough:--
"He was Charles, Sixth Lord Baltimore, it appears; Sixth, and last
but one. First of the Baltimores, we know, was Secretary Calvert
(1618-1624), who colonized Maryland; last of them (1774) was the
Son of this Charles; something of a fool, to judge by the face of
him in Portraits, and by some of his doings in the world. He, that
Seventh Baltimore, printed one or two little Volumes "now of
extreme rarity"--cannot be too rare); and winded up by standing an
ugly Trial at Kingston Assizes (plaintiff an unfortunate female).
After which he retired to Naples, and there ended, 1774, the last
of these Milords. [Walpole (by Park), Catalogue of Royal
and Noble Authors (London, 1806), v. 278.]
"He of the Kingston Assizes, we say, was not this Charles; but his
Son, whom let the reader forget. Charles, age forty at this time,
had travelled about the Continent a good deal: once, long ago, we
imagined we had got a glimpse of him (but it was a guess merely)
lounging about Luneville and Lorraine, along with Lyttelton, in
the Congress-of-Soissons time? Not long after that, it is certain
enough, he got appointed a Gentleman of the Bedchamber to Prince
Fred; who was a friend of speculative talkers and cultivated
people. In which situation Charles Sixth Baron Baltimore continued
all his days after; and might have risen by means of Fred, as he
was anxious enough to do, had both of them lived; but they both
died; Baltimore first, in 1751, a year before Fred. Bubb
Doddington, diligent laborer in the same Fred vineyard, was much
infested by this Baltimore,--who, drunk or sober (for he
occasionally gets into liquor), is always putting out Bubb, and
stands too well with our Royal Master, one secretly fears!
Baltimore's finances, I can guess, were not in too good order;
mostly an Absentee; Irish Estates not managed in the first style,
while one is busy in the Fred vineyard! 'The best and honestest
man in the world, with a good deal of jumbled knowledge,' Walpole
calls him once: 'but not capable of conducting a party.'"
[Walpole's Letters to Mann (London, 1843),
ii. 175; 27th January, 1747. See ib. i. 82.] Oh no;--and died, at
any rate, Spring 1751: [ Peerage of Ireland
(London, 1768), ii. 172-174.] and we will not mention him farther.
BIELFELD, WHAT HE SAW AT REINSBERG AND AROUND.
Directly on the rear of these fine visitors, came, by invitation,
a pair of the Korn's-Hotel people; Masonic friends; one of whom
was Bielfeld, whose dainty Installation Speech and ways of
procedure had been of promise to the Prince on that occasion.
"Baron von Oberg" was the other:--Hanoverian Baron: the same who
went into the Wars, and was a "General von Oberg" twenty years
hence? The same or another, it does not much concern us. Nor does
the visit much, or at all; except that Bielfeld, being of writing
nature, professes to give ocular account of it. Honest transcript
of what a human creature actually saw at Reinsberg, and in the
Berlin environment at that date, would have had a value to
mankind: but Bielfeld has adopted the fictitious form; and pretty
much ruined for us any transcript there is. Exaggeration,
gesticulation, fantastic uncertainty afflict the reader;
and prevent comfortable belief, except where there is other
evidence than Bielfeld's.
At Berlin the beautiful straight streets, Linden Avenues (perhaps
a better sample than those of our day), were notable to Bielfeld;
bridges, statues very fine; grand esplanades, and such military
drilling and parading as was never seen. He had dinner-
invitations, too, in quantity; likes this one and that (all in
prudent asterisks),---likes Truchsess von Waldburg very much, and
his strange mode of bachelor housekeeping, and the way he dines
and talks among his fellow-creatures, or sits studious among his
Military Books and Paper-litters. But all is loose far-off
sketching, in the style of Anacharsis the Younger; and makes no solid impression.
Getting to Reinsberg, to the Town, to the Schloss, he crosses the
esplanade, the moat; sees what we know, beautiful square Mansion
among its woods and waters;--and almost nothing that we do not
know, except the way the moat-bridge is lighted: "Bridge
furnished," he says, "with seven Statues representing the seven
Planets, each holding in her hand a glass lamp in the form of a
globe;"--which is a pretty object in the night-time. The House is
now finished; Knobelsdorf rejoicing in his success; Pesne and
others giving the last touch to some ceilings of a sublime nature.
On the lintel of the gate is inscribed FREDERICO TRANQUILLITATEM
COLENTI (To Friedrich courting Tranquillity). The gardens, walks,
hermitages, grottos, are very spacious, fine: not yet completed,--
perhaps will never be. A Temple of Bacchus is just now on hand,
somewhere in those labyrinthic woods: "twelve gigantic Satyrs as
caryatides, crowned by an inverted Punch-bowl for dome;" that is
the ingenious Knobelsdorf's idea, pleasant to the mind.
Knobelsdorf is of austere aspect; austere, yet benevolent and full
of honest sagacity; the very picture of sound sense, thinks
Bielfeld. M. Jordan is handsome, though of small stature;
agreeable expression of face; eye extremely vivid; brown
complexion, bushy eyebrows as well as beard are black. [Bielfeld
(abridged), i. 45.]
Or did the reader ever hear of "M. Fredersdorf," Head Valet at
this time? Fredersdorf will become, as it were, Privy-Purse,
House-Friend, and domestic Factotum, and play a great part in
coming years. "A tall handsome man;" much "silent sense, civility,
dexterity;" something "magnificently clever in him," thinks
Bielfeld (now, or else twenty years afterwards); whom we can
believe. [Ib. p. 49.] He was a gift from General Schwerin, this
Fredersdorf; once a Private in Schwerin's regiment, at Frankfurt-
on-Oder,--excellent on the flute, for one quality. Schwerin, who
had an eye for men, sent him to Friedrich, in the Custrin time;
hoping he might suit in fluting and otherwise. Which he
conspicuously did. Bielfeld's account, we must candidly say,
appears to be an afterthought; but readers can make their profit
of it, all the same.
As to the Crown-Prince and Princess, words fail to express their
gracious perfections, their affabilities, polite ingenuities:--
Bielfeld's words do give us some pleasant shadowy conceivability
of the Crown-Princess:--
"Tall, and perfect in shape; bust such as a sculptor might copy;
complexion of the finest; features ditto; nose, I confess,
smallish and pointed, but excellent of that kind; hair of the
supremest flaxen, 'shining' like a flood of sunbeams, when the
powder is off it. A humane ingenuous Princess; little negligences
in toilet or the like, if such occur, even these set her off, so
ingenuous are they. Speaks little; but always to the purpose, in a
simple, cheerful and wise way. Dances beautifully; heart (her
soubrette assures me) is heavenly;--and 'perhaps no Princess
living has a finer set of diaonds.'"
Of the Crown-Princess there is some pleasant shadow traced as on
cobweb, to this effect. But of the Crown-Prince there is no
forming the least conception from what he says:--this is mere
cobweb with Nothing elaborately painted on it. Nor do the
portraits of the others attract by their verisimilitude. Here is
Colonel Keyserling, for instance; the witty Courlander, famous
enough in the Friedrich circle; who went on embassy to Cirey, and
much else: he "whirls in with uproar (FRACAS) like Boreas in the
Ballet;" fowling-piece on shoulder, and in his "dressing-gown"
withal, which is still stranger; snatches off Bielfeld, unknown
till that moment, to sit by him while dressing; and there, with
much capering, pirouetting, and indeed almost ground-and-lofty
tumbling, for accompaniment, "talks of Horses, Mathematics,
Painting, Architecture, Literature, and the Art of War," while he
dresses. This gentleman was once Colonel in Friedrich Wilhelm's
Army; is now fairly turned of forty, and has been in troubles:
we hope he is not LIKE in the Bielfeld Portrait;--otherwise, how
happy that we never had the honor of knowing him! Indeed, the
Crown-Prince's Household generally, as Bielfeld paints it in
flourishes of panegyric, is but unattractive; barren to the modern
on-looker; partly the Painter's blame, we doubt not. He gives
details about their mode of dining, taking coffee, doing concert;
--and describes once an incidental drinking-bout got up
aforethought by the Prince; which is probably in good part
fiction, though not ill done. These fantastic sketchings,
rigorously winnowed into the credible and actual, leave no great
residue in that kind; but what little they do leave is of
favorable and pleasant nature.
Bielfeld made a visit privately to Potsdam, too: saw the Giants
drill; made acquaintance with important Captains of theirs (all in
ASTERISKS) at Potsdam; with whom he dined, not in a too credible
manner, and even danced. Among the asterisks, we easily pick out
Captain Wartensleben (of the Korn's-Hotel operation), and
Winterfeld, a still more important Captain, whom we saw dining on
cold pie with his Majesty, at a barn-door in Pommern, not long
since. Of the Giants, or their life at Potsdam, Bielfeld's word is
not worth hearing,--worth suppressing rather; his knowledge being
so small, and hung forth in so fantastic a way. This transient
sight he had of his Majesty in person; this, which is worth
something to us,--fact being evidently lodged in it, "After
church-parade," Autumn Sunday afternoon (day uncertain, Bielfeld's
date being fictitious, and even impossible), Majesty drove out to
Wusterhausen, "where the quantities of game surpass all belief;"
and Bielfeld had one glimpse of him:--
"I saw his Majesty only, as it were, in passing. If I may judge by
his Portraits, he must have been of a perfect beauty in his young
time; but it must be confessed there is nothing left of it now.
His eyes truly are fine; but the glance of them is terrible:
his complexion is composed of the strongest tints of red, blue,
yellow, green,"--not a lovely complexion at all; "big head; the
thick neck sunk between the shoulders; figure short and heavy
(COURTE ET RAMASSEE)." [Bielfeld, p. 35.]
"Going out to Wusterhausen," then, that afternoon, "October,
1739." How his Majesty is crushed down; quite bulged out of shape
in that sad way, by the weight of time and its pressures:
his thoughts, too, most likely, of a heavy-laden and abstruse
nature! The old Pfalz Controversy has misgone with him: Pfalz, and
so much else in the world;--the world in whole, probably enough,
near ending to him; the final shadows, sombre, grand and mournful,
closing in upon him!
TURK WAR ENDS; SPANISH WAR BEGINS. A WEDDING IN PETERSBURG.
Last news come to Potsdam in these days is, The Kaiser has ended
his disastrous Turk War; been obliged to end it; sudden downbreak,
and as it were panic terror, having at last come upon his
unfortunate Generals in those parts. Duke Franz was passionate to
be out of such a thing; Franz, General Neipperg and others;
and now, "2d September, 1739," like lodgers leaping from a burning
house, they are out of it. The Turk gets Belgrade itself, not to
mention wide territories farther east,--Belgrade without shot
fired;--nay the Turk was hardly to be kept from hanging the
Imperial Messenger (a General Neipperg, Duke Franz's old Tutor,
and chief Confidant, whom we shall hear more of elsewhere), whose
passport was not quite right on this occasion!--Never was a more
disgraceful Peace. But also never had been worse fighting;
planless, changeful, powerless, melting into futility at every
step:--not to be mended by imprisonments in Gratz, and still
harsher treatment of individuals. "Has all success forsaken me,
then, since Eugene died?" said the Kaiser; and snatched at this
Turk Peace; glad to have it, by mediation of France, and on
any terms.
Has not this Kaiser lost his outlying properties at a fearful
rate? Naples is gone; Spanish Bourbon sits in our Naples;
comparatively little left for us in Italy. And now the very Turk
has beaten us small; insolently fillips the Imperial nose of us,--
threatening to hang our Neipperg, and the like. Were it not for
Anne of Russia, whose big horse-whip falls heavy on this Turk, he
might almost get to Vienna again, for anything we could do!
A Kaiser worthy to be pitied;--whom Friedrich Wilhelm, we
perceive, does honestly pity. A Kaiser much beggared, much
disgraced, in late years; who has played a huge life-game so long,
diplomatizing, warring; and, except the Shadow of Pragmatic
Sanction, has nothing to retire upon.
The Russians protested, with astonishment, against such Turk Peace
on the Kaiser's part. But there was no help for it. One ally is
gone, the Kaiser has let go this Western skirt of the Turk;
and "Thamas Kouli Khan" (called also Nadir Shah, famed Oriental
slasher and slayer of that time) no longer stands upon the Eastern
skirt, but "has entered India," it appears: the Russians--their
cash, too, running low--do themselves make peace, "about a month
after;" restoring Azoph and nearly all their conquests; putting
off the ruin of the Turk till a better time.
War is over in the East, then; but another in the West, England
against Spain (Spain and France to help), is about beginning.
Readers remember how Jenkins's Ear re-emerged, Spring gone a year,
in a blazing condition? Here, through SYLVANUS URBAN himself, are
two direct glimpses, a twelve-month nearer hand, which show us how
the matter has been proceeding since:--
"LONDON, 19th FEBRUARY, 1739. The City Authorities,"--laying or
going to lay "the foundation of the Mansion-House" (Edifice now
very black in our time), and doing other things of little moment
to us, "had a Masquerade at the Guildhall this night. There was a
very splendid appearance at the Masquerade; but among the many
humorous and whimsical characters, what seemed most to engage
attention was a Spaniard, who called himself 'Knight of the Ear;'
as Badge of which Order he wore on his breast the form of a Star,
with its points tinged in blood; and on the body of it an Ear
painted, and in capital letters the word JENKINS encircling it.
Across his shoulder there hung, instead of ribbon, a large Halter;
which he held up to several persons dressed as English Sailors,
who seemed in great terror of him, and falling on their knees
suffered him to rummage their pockets; which done, he would
insolently dismiss them with strokes of his halter. Several of
the Sailors had a bloody Ear hanging down from their heads; and on
their hats were these words, EAR FOR EAR; on others, NO SEARCH OR
NO TRADE; with the like sentences." [ Gentleman's Magazine
for 1739, p. 103;--our DATES, as always, are N. 8.]
The conflagration evidently going on; not likely to be damped down
again, by ministerial art!--
"LONDON, 19th MARCH, 1739." Grand Debate in Parliament, on the
late "Spanish Convention," pretended Bargain of redress lately got
from Spain: Approve the Convention, or Not approve? "A hundred
Members were in the House of Commons before seven, this morning;
and four hundred had taken their seat by ten; which is an unheard-
of thing. Prince of Wales," Fred in person, "was in the gallery
till twelve at night, and had his dinner sent to him. Sir Robert
Walpole rose: 'Sir, the great pains that have been taken to
influence all ranks and degrees of men in this Nation--...
But give me leave to'"--apply a wet cloth to Honorable Gentlemen.
Which he does, really with skill and sense. France and the others
are so strong, he urges; England so unprepared; Kaiser at such a
pass; 'War like to be, about the Palatinate Dispute [our friend
Friedrich Wilhelm's]: Where is England to get, allies?'--and hours
long of the like sort. A judicious wet cloth; which
proved unavailing.
For "William Pitts" (so they spell the great Chatham that is to
be) was eloquent on the other side: "Despairing Merchants," "Voice
of England," and so on. And the world was all in an inflamed
state. And Mr. Pulteney exclaimed: Palatinate? Allies? "We need no
allies; the case of Mr. Jenkins will raise us volunteers
everywhere!" And in short,--after eight months more of haggling,
and applying wet cloths,--Walpole, in the name of England, has to
declare War against Spain; ["3d November (23d October), 1739."]
the public humor proving unquenchable on that matter. War; and no
Peace to be, "till our undoubted right," to roadway on the oceans
of this Planet, become permanently manifest to the
Spanish Majesty.
Such the effect of a small Ear, kept about one in cotton, from
ursine piety or other feelings. Has not Jenkins's Ear re-emerged,
with a vengeance? It has kindled a War: dangerous for kindling
other Wars, and setting the whole world on fire,--as will be too
evident in the sequel! The EAR OF JENKINS is a singular thing.
Might have mounted to be a constellation, like BERENICE'S HAIR,
and other small facts become mythical, had the English People been
of poetic turn! Enough of IT, for the time being.--
This Summer, Anton Ulrich, at Petersburg, did wed his Serene
Mecklenburg Princess, Heiress of all the Russias: "July 14th,
1739,"--three months before that Drive to Wusterhausen, which we
saw lately. Little Anton Ulrich, Cadet of Brunswick;
our Friedrich's Brother-in-Law;--a noticeably small man in
comparison to such bulk of destiny, thinks Friedrich, though the
case is not without example! [A Letter of his to Suhm; touching on
Franz of Lorraine and this Anton Ulrich.]
"Anton Ulrich is now five-and-twenty," says one of my Notebooks;
"a young gentleman of small stature, shining courage in battle,
but somewhat shy and bashful; who has had his troubles in
Petersburg society, till the trial came,--and will have. Here are
the stages of Anton Ulrich's felicity:--
"WINTER, 1732-1733. He was sent for to Petersburg (his Serene Aunt
the German Kaiserinn, and Kaiser Karl's diplomatists, suggesting
it there), with the view of his paying court to the young
Mecklenburg Princess, Heiress of all the Russias, of whom we have
often heard. February, 1733, he arrived on this errand;--not
approved of at all by the Mecklenburg Princess, by Czarina Anne or
anybody there: what can be done with such an uncomfortable little
creature? They gave him the Colonelcy of Cuirassiers: 'Drill
there, and endure.'
"SPRING, 1737. Much-enduring, diligently drilling, for four years
past, he went this year to the Turk War under Munnich;--much
pleased Munnich, at Oczakow and elsewhere; who reports in the War-
Office high things of him. And on the whole,--the serene Vienna
people now again bestirring themselves, with whom we are in
copartnery in this Turk business,--little Anton Ulrich is
encouraged to proceed. Proceeds; formally demands his Mecklenburg
Princess; and,
"JULY 14th, 1739, weds her; the happiest little man in all the
Russias, and with the biggest destiny, if it prosper. Next year,
too, there came a son and heir; whom they called Iwan, in honor of
his Russian Great-grandfather. Shall we add the subsequent
felicities of Anton Ulrich here; or wait till another
opportunity?"
Better wait. This is all, and more than all, his Prussian Majesty,
rolling out of Wusterhausen that afternoon, ever knew of them, or
needed to know!--
Chapter VIII.
DEATH OF FRIEDRICH WILHELM.
At Wusterhausen, this Autumn, there is game as usual, but little
or no hunting for the King. He has to sit drearily within doors,
for most part; listening to the rustle of falling leaves, to dim
Winter coming with its rains and winds. Field-sports are a rumor
from without: for him now no joyous sow-baiting, deer-chasing;--
that, like other things, is past.
In the beginning of November, he came to Berlin; was worse there,
and again was better;--strove to do the Carnival, as had been
customary; but, in a languid, lamed manner. One night he looked in
upon an evening-party which General Schulenburg was giving:
he returned home, chilled, shivering;, could not, all night, be
brought to heat again. It was the last evening-party Friedrich
Wilhelm ever went to. [Pollnitz (ii. 538); who gives no date.]
Lieutenant-General Schulenburg: the same who doomed young
Friedrich to death, as President of the Court-Martial;
and then wrote the Three Letters about him which we once looked
into: illuminates himself in this manner in Berlin society,--
Carnival season, 1740, weather fiercely cold. Maypole Schulenburg
the lean Aunt, Ex-Mistress of George I., over in London,--I think
she must now be dead? Or if not dead, why not! Memory, for the
tenth time, fails me, of the humanly unmemorable, whom perhaps
even flunkies should forget; and I will try it no more.
The stalwart Lieutenant-General will reappear on us once, twice at
the utmost, and never again. He gave the last evening-party
Friedrich Wilhelm ever went to.
Poor Friedrich Wilhelm is in truth very ill; tosses about all day,
in and out of bed,--bed and wheeled-chair drearily alternating;
suffers much;--and again, in Diplomatic circles, the rumors are
rife and sinister. Ever from this chill at Schulenburg's the
medicines did him no good, says Pollnitz: if he rallied, it was
the effect of Nature, and only temporary. He does daily, with
punctuality, his Official business; perhaps the best two hours he
has of the four-and-twenty, for the time hangs heavy on him. His
old Generals sit round his bed, talking, smoking, as it was five
years ago; his Feekin and his Children much about him, out and in:
the heavy-laden, weary hours roll round as they can. In general
there is a kind of constant Tabaks-Collegium, old Flans, Camas,
Hacke, Pollnitz, Derschau, and the rest by turns always there;
the royal Patient cannot be left alone, without faces he likes:
other Generals, estimable in their way, have a physiognomy
displeasing to the sick man; and will smart for it if they enter,
--"At sight of HIM every pain grows painfuler!"--the poor King
being of poetic temperament, as we often say. Friends are
encouraged to smoke, especially to keep up a stream of talk; if at
any time he fall into a doze and they cease talking, the silence
will awaken him.
He is worst off in the night; sleep very bad: and among his sore
bodily pains, ennui falls very heavy to a mind so restless. He can
paint, he can whittle, chisel: at last they even mount him a
table, in his bed, with joiner's tools, mallets, glue-pots, where
he makes small carpentry,--the talk to go on the while;--often at
night is the sound of his mallet audible in the Palace Esplanade;
and Berlin townsfolk pause to listen, with many thoughts of a
sympathetic or at least inarticulate character: "HM, WEH, IHRO
MAJESTAT: ACH GOTT, pale Death knocks with impartial foot at the
huts of poor men and the Palaces of Kings!" [Pollnitz, ii. 539.]
Reverend Herr Roloff, whom they call Provost (PROBST, Chief
Clergyman) Roloff, a pious honest man and preacher, he, I could
guess, has already been giving spiritual counsel now and then;
later interviews with Roloff are expressly on record: for it is
the King's private thought, ever and anon borne in upon him, that
death itself is in this business.
Queen and Children, mostly hoping hitherto, though fearing too,
live in much anxiety and agitation. The Crown-Prince is often over
from Reinsberg; must not come too often, nor even inquire too
much: his affectionate solicitude might be mistaken for solicitude
of another kind! It is certain he is in no haste to be King;
to quit the haunts of the Muses, and embark on Kingship.
Certain, too, he loves his Father; shudders at the thought of
losing HIM. And yet again there will gleams intrude of a contrary
thought; which the filial heart disowns, with a kind of horror,
"Down, thou impious thought!"--We perceive he manages in general
to push the crisis away from him; to believe that real danger is
still distant. His demeanor, so far as we can gather from his
Letters or other evidence, is amiable, prudent, natural;
altogether that of a human Son in those difficult circumstances.
Poor Papa is heavy-laden: let us help to bear his burdens;--
let us hope the crisis is still far off!--
Once, on a favorable evening, probably about the beginning of
April, when he felt as if improving, Friedrich Wilhelm resolved to
dress, and hold Tobacco-Parliament again in a formal manner, Let
us look in there, through the eyes of Pollnitz, who was of it,
upon the last Tobacco-Parliament:--
"A numerous party; Schwerin, Hacke, Derschau, all the chiefs and
commandants of the Berlin Garrison are there; the old circle full;
social human speech once more, and pipes alight; pleasant to the
King. He does not himself smoke on this occasion; but he is
unusually lively in talk; much enjoys the returning glimpse of old
days; and the Tobacco circle was proceeding through its phases,
successful beyond common. All at once the Crown-Prince steps in;
direct from Reinsberg: [12th April, 1740? ( OEuvres, xxvii. part lst, p. 29); Pollnitz is dateless] an
unexpected pleasure. At sight of whom the Tobacco circle, taken on
the sudden, simultaneously started up, and made him a bow.
Rule is, in Tobacco-Parliament you do not rise--for anybody;
and they have risen. Which struck the sick heart in a strange
painful way. 'Hm, the Rising Sun?' thinks he; 'Rules broken
through, for the Rising Sun. But I am not dead yet, as you shall
know!' ringing for his servants in great wrath; and had himself
rolled out, regardless of protestations and excuses.
'Hither, you Hacke!' said he.
"Hacke followed; but it was only to return on the instant, with
the King's order, 'That you instantly quit the Palace, all of you,
and don't come back!' Solemn respectful message to his Majesty was
of no effect, or of less; they had to go, on those terms;
and Pollnitz, making for his Majesty's apartment next morning as
usual, was twitched by a Gens-d'arme, 'No admittance!' And it was
days before the matter would come round again, under earnest
protestations from the one side, and truculent rebukes from the
other." [Pollnitz (abridged), ii. 50.] Figure the Crown-Prince,
figure the poor sick Majesty; and what a time in those localities!
With the bright spring weather he seemed to revive; towards the
end of April he resolved for Potsdam, everybody thinking him much
better, and the outer Public reckoning the crisis of the illness
over. He himself knew other. It was on the 27th of the month that
he went; he said, "Fare thee well, then, Berlin; I am to die in
Potsdam, then (ICH WERDE IN POTSDAM STERBEN)!" The May-flowers
came late; the weather was changeful, ungenial for the sick man:
this winter of 1740 had been the coldest on record; it extended
itself into the very summer; and brought great distress of every
kind;--of which some oral rumor still survives in all countries.
Friedrich Wilhelm heard complaints of scarcity among the people;
admonitions to open his Corn-granaries (such as he always has in
store against that kind of accident); but he still hesitated and
refused; unable to look into it himself, and fearing deceptions.
For the rest, he is struggling between death and life; in general
persuaded that the end is fast hastening on. He sends for Chief
Preacher Roloff out to Potsdam; has some notable dialogues with
Roloff, and with two other Potsdam Clergymen, of which there is
record still left us. In these, as in all his demeanor at this
supreme time, we see the big rugged block of manhood come out very
vividly; strong in his simplicity, in his veracity.
Friedrich Wilhelm's wish is to know from Roloff what the chances
are for him in the other world,--which is not less certain than
Potsdam and the giant grenadiers to Friedrich Wilhelm; and where,
he perceives, never half so clearly before, he shall actually
peel off his Kinghood, and stand before God Almighty, no better
than a naked beggar. Roloff's prognostics are not so encouraging
as the King had hoped. Surely this King "never took or coveted
what was not his; kept true to his marriage-vow, in spite of
horrible examples everywhere; believed the Bible, honored the
Preachers, went diligently to Church, and tried to do what he
understood God's commandments were?" To all which Roloff, a
courageous pious man, answers with discreet words and shakings of
the head, "Did I behave ill, then; did I ever do injustice?"
Roloff mentions Baron Schlubhut the defalcating Amtmann, hanged at
Konigsberg without even a trial. "He had no trial; but was there
any doubt he had justice? A public thief, confessing he had stolen
the taxes he was set to gather; insolently offering, as if that
were all, to repay the money, and saying, It was not MANIER (good
manners) to hang a nobleman!" Roloff shakes his head, Too violent,
your Majesty, and savoring of the tyrannous. The poor King
must repent.
"Well,--is there anything more? Out with it, then; better now than
too late!"--Much oppression, forcing men to build in Berlin.--
"Oppression? was it not their benefit, as well as Berlin's and the
Country's? I had no interest in it other. Derschau, you who
managed it?" and his Majesty turned to Derschau. For all the
smoking generals and company are still here; nor will his Majesty
consent to dismiss them from the presence and be alone with
Roloff: "What is there to conceal? They are people of honor, and
my friends." Derschau, whose feats in the building way are not
unknown even to us, answers with a hard face, It was all right and
orderly; nothing out of square in his building operations.
To which Roloff shakes his head: "A thing of public notoriety,
Herr General."--"I will prove everything before a Court," answers
the Herr General with still harder face; Roloff still austerely
shaking his head. Hm!--And then there is forgiveness of enemies;
your Majesty is bound to forgive all men, or how can you ask to be
forgiven? "Well, I will, I do; you Feekin, write to your Brother
(unforgivablest of beings), after I am dead, that I forgave him,
died in peace with him."--Better her Majesty should write at once,
suggests Roloff.--"No, after I am dead," persists the Son of
Nature,--that will be safer! [Wrote accordingly, "not able to
finish without many tears;" honest sensible Letter (though
indifferently spelt), "Berlin, 1st June, 1740;"--lies now in
State-Paper Office: "ROYAL LETTERS, vol. xciv., Prussia,
1689-1777."] An unwedgeable and gnarled big block of manhood and
simplicity and sincerity; such as we rarely get sight of among the
modern sons of Adam, among the crowned sons nearly never.
At parting he said to Roloff, "You (ER, He) do not spare me; it is
right. You do your duty like an honest Christian man."
[ Notata ex ore Roloffi ("found among the
Seckendorf Papers," no date but "May 1740"), in Forster, ii. 154,
155; in a fragmentary state: completed in Pollnitz, ii. 545-549.]
Roloff, I perceive, had several Dialogues with the King;
and stayed in Potsdam some days for that object. The above bit of
jotting is from the Seckendorf Papers (probably picked up by
Seckendorf Junior), and is dated only "May." Of the two Potsdam
Preachers, one of whom is "Oesfeld, Chaplain of the Giant
Grenadiers," and the other is "Cochius, Calvinist Hofprediger,"
each published on his own score some Notes of dialogue and
circumstance; [Cochius the HOFPREDIGER'S (Calvinist Court-
Chaplain's) ACCOUNT of his Interviews (first of them "Friday, 27th
May, 1740, about 9 P.M."); followed by ditto from Oesfeld
(Chaplain of the Giants), who usually accompanied Cochius,--are in
Seyfarth, Geschichte Friedrich des Grossen
(Leipzig, 1783-1788), i. (Beylage) 24-40. Seyfarth was "Regiments-
Auditor" in Halle: his Work, solid though stupid, consists nearly
altogether of multifarious BEYLAGEN (Appendices) and NOTES;
which are creditably accurate, and often curious; and, as usual,
have no Index for an unfortunate reader.] which are to the same
effect, so far as they concern us; and exhibit the same rugged Son
of Nature, looking with all his eyesight into the near Eternity,
and sinking in a human and not inhuman manner amid the floods of
Time. "Wa, Wa, what great God is this, that pulls down the
strength of the strongest Kings!"--
The poor King's state is very restless, fluctuates from day to
day; he is impatient of bed; sleeps very ill; is up whenever
possible; rolls about in his wheeled-chair, and even gets into the
air: at one time looking strong, as if there were still months in
him, and anon sunk in fainting weakness, as if he had few minutes
to live. Friedrich at Reinsberg corresponds very secretly with
Dr. Eller; has other friends at Potsdam whose secret news he very
anxiously reads. To the last he cannot bring himself to think it
serious." [Letter to Eller, 25th May, 1740 ( OEuvres ), xvi. 184.]
On Thursday, 26th of May, an express from Eller, or the Potsdam
friends, arrives at Reinsberg: He is to come quickly, if he would
see his Father again alive! The step may have danger, too; but
Friedrich, a world of feelings urging him, is on the road next
morning before the sun. His journey may be fancied; the like of it
falls to all men. Arriving at last, turning hastily a corner of
the Potsdam Schloss, Friedrich sees some gathering in the
distance: it is his Father in his ROLLWAGEN (wheeled-chair),--not
dying; but out of doors, giving orders about founding a House, or
seeing it done. House for one Philips, a crabbed Englishman he
has; whose tongue is none of the best, not even to Majesty itself,
but whose merits as a Groom, of English and other Horses, are
without parallel in those parts. Without parallel, and deserve a
House before we die. Let us see it set agoing, this blessed
Mayday! Of Philips, who survived deep into Friedrich's time, and
uttered rough sayings (in mixed intelligible dialect) when put
upon in his grooming, or otherwise disturbed, I could obtain no
farther account: the man did not care to be put in History (a very
small service to a man); cared to have a house with trim fittings,
and to do his grooming well, the fortunate Philips.
At sight of his Son, Friedrich Wilhelm threw out his arms; the Son
kneeling sank upon his breast, and they embraced with tears.
My Father, my Father; My Son, my Son! It was a scene to make all
by-standers and even Philips weep.--Probably the emotion hurt the
old King; he had to be taken in again straightway, his show of
strength suddenly gone, and bed the only place for him. This same
Friday he dictated to one of his Ministers (Boden, who was in
close attendance) the Instruction for his Funeral; a rude
characteristic Piece, which perhaps the English reader knows.
Too long and rude for reprinting here. [Copy of it, in Seyfarth
(ubi supra), i. 19-24. Translated in Mauvillon (ii. 432-437);
in &c. &c.]
He is to be buried in his uniform, the Potsdam Grenadiers his
escort; with military decorum, three volleys fired (and take care
they be well fired, "NICHT PLACKEREN"), so many cannon-salvos;--
and no fuss or flaunting ceremony: simplicity and decency is what
the tenant of that oak coffin wants, as he always did when owner
of wider dominions. The coffin, which he has ready and beside him
in the Palace this good while, is a stout piece of carpentry, with
leather straps and other improvements; he views it from time to
time; solaces his truculent imagination with the look of it:
"I shall sleep right well there," he would say. The image he has
of his Burial, we perceive, is of perfect visuality, equal to what
a Defoe could do in imagining. All is seen, settled to the last
minuteness: the coffin is to be borne out by so and so, at such
and such a door; this detachment is to fall-in here, that there,
in the attitude of "cover arms" (musket inverted under left arm);
and the band is to play, with all its blackamoors,
O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden (O Head, all
bleeding wounded); a Dirge his Majesty had liked, who knew music,
and had a love for it, after his sort. Good Son of Nature: a dumb
Poet, as I say always; most dumb, but real; the value of him
great, and unknown in these babbling times. It was on this same
Friday night that Cochius was first sent for; Cochius, and Oesfeld
with him, "about nine o'clock."
For the next three days (Saturday to Monday) when his cough and
many sufferings would permit him, Friedrich Wilhelm had long
private dialogues with his Son; instructing him, as was evident,
in the mysteries of State; in what knowledge, as to persons and to
things, he reckoned might be usefulest to him. What the lessons
were, we know not; the way of taking them had given pleasure to
the old man: he was heard to say, perhaps more than once, when the
Generals were called in, and the dialogue interrupted for a while:
"Am not I happy to have such a Son to leave behind me!" And the
grimly sympathetic Generals testified assent; endeavored to talk a
little, could at least smoke, and look friendly; till the King
gathered strength for continuing his instructions to his
Successor. All else was as if settled with him; this had still
remained to do. This once done (finished, Monday night), why not
abdicate altogether; and die disengaged, be it in a day or in a
month, since that is now the one work left? Friedrich Wilhelm does
so purpose.
His state, now as all along, was fluctuating, uncertain, restless.
He was heard murmuring prayers; he would say sometimes, "Pray for
me; BETET BETET." And more than once, in deep tone: "Lord, enter
not into judgment with Thy servant, for in Thy sight shall no man
living be justified!" The wild Son of Nature, looking into Life
and Death, into Judgment and Eternity, finds that these things are
very great. This too is a characteristic trait: In a certain
German Hymn ( Why fret or murmur, then? the
title of it), which they often sang to him, or along with him, as
he much loved it, are these words, "Naked I came into the world,
and naked shall I go,"--"No," said he "always with vivacity," at
this passage; "not quite nakid, I shall have my uniform on:"
Let us be exact, since we are at it! After which the singing
proceeded again. "The late Graf Alexander von Wartenberg"--Captain
Wartenberg, whom we know, and whose opportunities--"was wont to
relate this." [Busching (in 1786), Beitrage,
iv. 100.]
Tuesday, 31st May, "about one in the morning," Cochius was again
sent for. He found the King in very pious mood, but in great
distress, and afraid he might yet have much pain to suffer.
Cochius prayed with him; talked piously. "I can remember nothing,"
said the King; "I cannot pray, I have forgotten all my prayers."--
"Prayer is not in words, but in the thought of the heart," said
Cochius; and soothed the heavy-laden man as he could. "Fare you
well," said Friedrich Wilhelm, at length; "most likely we shall
not meet again in this world." Whereat Cochius burst into tears,
and withdrew. About four, the King was again out of bed; wished to
see his youngest Boy, who had been ill of measles, but was doing
well: "Poor little Ferdinand, adieu, then, my little child!"
This is the Father of that fine Louis Ferdinand, who was killed at
Jena; concerning whom Berlin, in certain emancipated circles of
it, still speaks with regret. He, the Louis Ferdinand, had fine
qualities; but went far a-roving, into radicalism, into romantic
love, into champagne; and was cut down on the threshold of Jena,
desperately fighting,--perhaps happily for him.
From little Ferdinand's room Friedrich Wilhelm has himself rolled
into Queen Sophie's. "Feekin, O my Feekin, thou must rise this
day, and help me what thou canst. This day I am going to die;
thou wilt be with me this day!" The good Wife rises: I know not
that it was the first time she had been so called; but it did
prove the last. Friedrich Wilhelm has decided, as the first thing
he will do, to abdicate; and all the Official persons and
companions of the sick-room, Pollnitz among them, not long after
sunrise, are called to see it done. Pollnitz, huddling on his
clothes, arrived about five: in a corridor he sees the wheeled-
chair and poor sick King; steps aside to let him pass: "'It is
over (DAS IST VOLLBRACHT),' said the King, looking up to me as he
passed: he had on his nightcap, and a blue mantle thrown round
him." He was wheeled into his anteroom; there let the company
assemble; many of them are already there.
The royal stables are visible from this room: Friedrich Wilhelm
orders the horses to be ridden out: you old Furst of Anhalt-Dessau
my oldest friend, you Colonel Hacke faithfulest of Adjutant-
Generals, take each of you a horse, the best you can pick out:
it is my last gift to you. Dessau, in silence, with dumb-show of
thanks, points to a horse, any horse: "You have chosen the very
worst," said Friedrich Wilhelm: "Take that other, I will warrant
him a good one!" The grim old Dessauer thanks in silence;
speechless grief is on that stern gunpowder face, and he seems
even to be struggling with tears. "Nay, nay, my friend," Friedrich
Wilhelm said, "this is a debt we have all to pay."
The Official people, Queen, Friedrich, Minister Boden, Minister
Podewils, and even Pollnitz, being now all present, Friedrich
Wilhelm makes his Declaration, at considerable length; old General
Bredow repeating it aloud, [Pollnitz, ii. 561.] sentence by
sentence, the King's own voice being too weak; so that all may
hear: "That he abdicates, gives up wholly, in favor of his good
Son Friedrich; that foreign Ambassadors are to be informed;
that you are all to be true and loyal to my Son as you were to
me"--and what else is needful. To which the judicious Podewils
makes answer, "That there must first be a written Deed of his high
Transaction executed, which shall be straightway set about;
the Deed once executed, signed and sealed,--the high Royal will,
in all points, takes effect." Alas, before Podewils has done
speaking, the King is like falling into a faint; does faint, and
is carried to bed: too unlikely any Deed of Abdication will
be needed.
Ups and downs there still were; sore fluctuating labor, as the
poor King struggles to his final rest, this morning. He was at the
window again, when the WACHT-PARADE (Grenadiers on Guard) turned
out; he saw them make their evolutions for the last time. [Pauli,
viii. 280.] After which, new relapse, new fluctuation. It was
about eleven o'clock, when Cochius was again sent for. The King
lay speechless, seemingly still conscious, in bed; Cochius prays
with fervor, in a loud tone, that the dying King may hear and
join. "Not so loud!" says the King, rallying a little. He had
remembered that it was the season when his servants got their new
liveries; they had been ordered to appear this day in full new
costume: "O vanity! O vanity!" said Friedrich Wilhelm, at sight of
the ornamented plush. "Pray for me, pray for me; my trust is in
the Saviour!" he often said. His pains, his weakness are great;
the cordage of a most tough heart rending itself piece by piece.
At one time, he called for a mirror: that is certain:--rugged wild
man, son of Nature to the last. The mirror was brought; what he
said at sight of his face is variously reported: "Not so worn out
as I thought," is Pollnitz's account, and the likeliest;--though
perhaps he said several things, "ugly face," "as good as dead
already;" and continued the inspection for some moments.
[Pollnitz, ii. 564; Wilhelmina, ii. 321.] A grim, strange thing.
"Feel mv pulse, Pitsch," said he, noticing the Surgeon of his
Giants: "tell me how long this will last."--"Alas, not long,"
answered Pitsch.--"Say not, alas; but how do you (He) know?"--
"The pulse is gone!"--"Impossible," said he, lifting his arm:
"how could I move my fingers so, if the pulse were gone?"
Pitsch looked mournfully steadfast. "Herr Jesu, to thee I live;
Herr Jesu, to thee I die; in life and in death thou art my gain
(DU BIST MEIN GEWINN)." These were the last words Friedrich
Wilhelm spoke in this world. He again fell into a faint.
Eller gave a signal to the Crown-Prince to take the Queen away.
Scarcely were they out of the room, when the faint had deepened
into death; and Friedrich Wilhelm, at rest from all his labors,
slept with the primeval sons of Thor.
No Baresark of them, nor Odin's self, I think, was a bit of truer
human stuff;--I confess his value to me, in these sad times, is
rare and great. Considering the usual Histrionic, Papin's-
Digester, Truculent-Charlatan and other species of "Kings," alone
attainable for the sunk flunky populations of an Era given up to
Mammon and the worship of its own belly, what would not such a
population give for a Friedrich Wilhelm, to guide it on the road
BACK from Orcus a little? "Would give," I have written; but alas,
it ought to have been "SHOULD give." What THEY "would" give is too
mournfully plain to me, in spite of ballot-boxes: a steady and
tremendous truth from the days of Barabbas downwards and upwards!
--Tuesday, 31st May, 1740, between one and two o'clock in the
afternoon, Friedrich Wilhelm died; age fifty-two, coming 15th
August next. Same day, Friedrich his Son was proclaimed at Berlin;
quilted heralds, with sound of trumpet and the like, doing what is
customary on such occasions.
On Saturday, 4th June, the King's body is laid out in state;
all Potsdam at liberty to come and see. He lies there, in his
regimentals, in his oaken coffin, on a raised place in the middle
of the room; decent mortuary draperies, lamps, garlands, banderols
furnishing the room and him: at his feet, on a black-velvet
TABOURET (stool), are the chivalry emblems, helmet, gauntlets,
spurs; and on similar stools, at the right hand and the left, lie
his military insignia, hat and sash, sword, guidon, and what else
is fit. Around, in silence, sit nine veteran military dignitaries;
Buddenbrock, Waldau, Derschau, Einsiedel, and five others whom we
omit to name. Silent they sit. A grim earnest sight in the shine
of the lamplight, as you pass out of the June sun. Many went, all
day; looked once again on the face that was to vanish.
Precisely at ten at night, the coffin-lid is screwed down:
twelve Potsdam Captains take the coffin on their shoulders;
four-and-twenty Corporals with wax torches, four-and-twenty
Sergeants with inverted halberts lowered; certain Generals on
order, and very many following as volunteers; these perform the
actual burial,--carry the body to the Garrison Church, where are
clergy waiting, which is but a small step off; see it lodged, oak
coffin and all, in a marble coffin in the side vault there, which
is known to Tourists. [Pauli, viii. 281.] It is the end of the
week, and the actual burial is done,--hastened forward for reasons
we can guess.
Filial piety by no means intends to defraud a loved Father of the
Spartan ceremonial contemplated as obsequies by him: very far from
it. Filial piety will conform to that with rigor; only adding what
musical and other splendors are possible, to testify his love
still more. And so, almost three weeks hence, on the 23d of the
month, with the aid of Dresden Artists, of Latin Cantatas and
other pomps (not inexcusable, though somewhat out of keeping), the
due Funeral is done, no Corpse but a Wax Effigy present in it;--
and in all points, that of the Potsdam Grenadiers not forgotten,
there was rigorous conformity to the Instruction left. In all
points, even to the extensive funeral dinner, and drinking of the
appointed cask of wine, "the best cask in my cellar." Adieu,
O King.
The Potsdam Grenadiers fired their three volleys (not
"PLACKERING," as I have reason to believe, but well); got their
allowance, dinner-liquor, and appointed coin of money: it was the
last service required of them in this world. That same night they
were dissolved, the whole Four Thousand of them, at a stroke;
and ceased to exist as Potsdam Grenadiers. Colonels, Captains, all
the Officers known to be of merit, were advanced, at least
transferred. Of the common men, a minority, of not inhuman height
and of worth otherwise, were formed into a new Regiment on the
common terms: the stupid splay-footed eight-feet mass were allowed
to stalk off whither they pleased, or vegetate on frugal pensions;
Irish Kirkman, and a few others neither knock-kneed nor without
head, were appointed HEYDUCS, that is, porters to the King's or
other Palaces; and did that duty in what was considered an
ornamental manner.
Here are still two things capable of being fished up from the sea
of nugatory matter; and meditated on by readers, till the
following Books open.
The last breath of Friedrich Wilhelm having fled, Friedrich
hurried to a private room; sat there all in tears; looking back
through the gulfs of the Past, upon such a Father now rapt away
forever. Sad all, and soft in the moonlight of memory,--the lost
Loved One all in the right as we now see, we all in the wrong!--
this, it appears, was the Son's fixed opinion. Seven years hence,
here is how Friedrich concludes the HISTORY of his Father, written
with a loyal admiration throughout: "We have left under silence
the domestic chagrins of this great Prince: readers must have some
indulgence for the faults of the Children, in consideration of the
virtues of such a Father." [ OEuvres, i. 174
( Memoires de Brandebourg: finished about
1747).] All in tears he sits at present, meditating these
sad things.
In a little while the Old Dessauer, about to leave for Dessau,
ventures in to the Crown-Prince, Crown-Prince no longer;
"embraces his knees;" offers, weeping, his condolence, his
congratulation;--hopes withal that his sons and he will be
continued in their old posts, and that he, the Old Dessauer,
"will have the same authority as in the late reign." Friedrich's
eyes, at this last clause, flash out tearless, strangely Olympian.
"In your posts I have no thought of making change: in your posts,
yes;--and as to authority, I know of none there can be but what
resides in the King that is sovereign!" Which, as it were, struck
the breath out of the Old Dessauer; and sent him home with a
painful miscellany of feelings, astonishment not wanting
among them.
At an after hour, the same night, Friedrich went to Berlin; met by
acclamation enough. He slept there, not without tumult of dreams,
one may fancy; and on awakening next morning, the first sound he
heard was that of the Regiment Glasenap under his windows,
swearing fealty to the new King. He sprang out of bed in a tempest
of emotion; bustled distractedly to and fro, wildly weeping.
Pollnitz, who came into the anteroom, found him in this state,
"half-dressed, with dishevelled hair, in tears, and as if beside
himself." "These huzzaings only tell me what I have lost!" said
the new King.--"HE was in great suffering," suggested Pollnitz;
"he is now at rest." "True, he suffered; but he was here with us:
and now--!" [Ranke (ii. 46, 47), from certain Fragments, still, in
manuscript, of Pollnits's Memoiren.
END OF BOOK X----
End of Project Gutenberg's Etext History of Friedrich II of Prussia V 10